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The Other Side of The Room it never fails to escape my notice that;The Other Side of The Room by ~xsinsx
i.
the rattling of the windows makes her
want a little less, but a little more.
she always tries to step it up,
but her arms (today) are rather sore.
it doesn't matter;
yet
she likes feeling safe.
windows; the memories chafe;
remind her of him. and how
he'd just climb in.
ii.
her phone rings, like the silver circlet enthroned
on her ankle. rings and clings; but who phoned?
even as the bells
move slightly in time with her footsteps;
and the button is nearly as
depressed as her when she has to ask 'Who's this?'
she likes knowing who calls,
maybe he will.
maybe,
she will.
iii.
ever
i am a bathroom sink in french i painted my walls ai am a bathroom sink in french by ~ChloroformBoy
bland-boring-beige:
the same hue of the
deconstruction sites,
sights, to match the
imperfect furniture.
[ toilets live in castles, but the loveseat begs to differ ]
i’m sinking in sinks
and floating on ink–
vikings, viper kings,
sledgehammer me...
as i’m sinking,
sinking
like the sins
of 1000 kings
you know our treacherous forefathers
treaded more than firehydranttyrants.
i caught the monarchies in my net,
as i relocated my realtor and set
sovereign moths to regicidal flame,
lit my carpenter’s autonomy on fire,
noticed flaws in architect blueprints,
and demanded my designer to rep
+ 
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Sta.sh
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