A literary mess living from a suitcase, tripping over Tupperware full of dry cat food. Two are sleeping in a twin bed, the other two on a single cot. Bodies are covered in cat fur. 3 AM and his teeth is grinding. I clean off entitlement. I give. Then, there are two moths and one spider in the bathtub with a side of slow drainage. There’s the unhappy couple. Best bro friends squeezing a can of empty Icehouse beer. 3 trash bags by the door. The water pressure is non-existent. Vents are ripped out of the wall, throwing the room off. Frequent cat sex on ottoman. Frequent cat vomit and shit on the aged hardwood floor. A door that doesn’t stay shut. Can’t vibe with the girls because they’re all
But I’m Au naturel.
No countertop space but enough for his $5.99 Dominican Club Vodka. Inconsistent sleep. It’s him or the dirty couch. Constant cartoons from his room. I voluntarily cramp my feet in bed. It’s most comfortable when pain is provided. Fans whirling overnight have become some sort of mantra just like the broke people complaining about being broke. I’m having my sense of luxury wearing my mother’s slippers and drinking two bottles of discounted La Marco Prosecco in the morning.
Check out these repeated stories, and fixed mindsets. Don’t forget to observe the games being played! Become the fool, it can be fun at times! What’s this? Checkout my permanent muscle aches. Check out that month old gummy bear on the floor. Become one with the eye sore!
Strands of my false blonde hair are uprooting into my tobacco filled larynx. There’s knifelike gravel in the rugged and grimy platform boots my server legs fit snugly in. I’m keeping plastic wrappers and convenience store receipts in the holes of my puffy, ash stained coat pockets. The living is sleazy.