is it the black walls
and black carpet and
black floor and black
mold? could it be the
gradual blackening of
my skin,
my organs,
the essentials?
is it the black ceiling,
with the black monsters
that live above us…
or maybe the big(ger)
black ones that live
below? is it all of
these things that suck
my lust from my chest
and the smile from my
face?
i wish i had cleaned
this truth-less place
the first time i’d offered
to,
i’m
beginning
to
mistake
me
for
it.