Air mattresses.

I was not kicked out, flipped off, forced to shout
because of another lover,
no, I created this temporary home for clarity--
a silk pillow resting on the wood floor
for the third morning in a row, I wake up
angry that nothing is resolved and my eyes
are still gritty from year-old mascara.

They reassure me that this week we will actually go
to the home depot store and pick the new face
of my four sterile walls, something I haven't had the
authority to do in fifteen years. Momma doesn't
want anything too dark, but I tell her the deeper
the color, the longer its story will stay.

Sapphire blue dots my vision, a sailor's catch long
overdue, gambling on what sea creatures will visit my dreams,
next.
I grabbed the pill bottle today, subduing the muffled
voices underwater, following the doctor's orders.
It's just one damn pill and I know it can't drown me.

I step away from the mattress, prolonging its demolition
one day more; I still can't see the sense in going back home,
even though that's where I've been this whole time.

-
Written 11/12/14 @ 10:13 AM