too busy.
fuzzy static,
eating away at the tv screen.
the wrinkles become steamed and unfolded.
thoughts become imaginary and only a fantasy.
nothing.
no clothes to store but too much clean clothes on floor.
the room is a mess.
so many drawers, so much room.
the big room shouldn't be this messy, but that's only because the size is imaginary.
fuzzy.
the thoughts don't make sense.
disgusting.
the way there is a foul smell always haunting the door frame.
the way the stains can be seen no matter where you look.
no matter where you put your eyes to the shapes are too fine; the lines are too straight.
it's too much precision.
the room is still messy.
the room isn't busy.
sharp lines turning and folding into black and white.
the room fits into a tv screen.
it's an old one, one with the big box in the back and buttons on the front.
the room is antique.
never before cleaned after the aftermath.
it was a disaster always to be remember,
and yet the one no one ever talks about.
just switch to another channel.
the show was too busy for the eyes anyways.
March 4th, 2020