Drowning

Blocked in,
A sheet of ice clouds my peripheral,
Subdues the clutter into a melting of watercolors.
I no longer see the mess.

Mold, garbage, discarded Filet-o-Fish boxes.
Once empty bags of chips spilling out with fruit flies.
My presence is unacknowledged,
Even the flies are mildly over my presence.
What is tomorrow?
There is no
Instance outside of this one.

I see a shimmer, a reflective holo shadow.
A shiny candy wrapper,
Reflected in the sunlight that found its way in.
The blinds weren’t open.
It was a trick.

Clothes are flung over the bed,
Soda bottles of varying sizes mingle with the Pringles cans,
Providing both a barrier and a pathway.

I’m not depressed, I repeat to myself.
Just lazy. Just tired. Tomorrow. I’ll clean it up tomorrow.
But what is tomorrow?
There is no moment
But this one.

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