New paint

The way home; as the footprints taper
I see yesterday’s footprints
have collected rainwater

An argument
stitched together in pauses
and a flickering lampshade
all that remains is hate

The damp walls-
the smell of rotting paint
with every breath
sweats into me
a strange intoxicant
I am home again

Energetic sleep–
an errant twig scratching
the broken moonlight-etched window

I wish I dreamt
of an old photo, us
in an blur of star shine

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