​It is Stagnant Here

Nothing grows here

It either stagnates or rots

The air in this room is thick, as if it I had left it twenty years ago rather than twenty minutes

I could’ve sworn I have heard this news a thousand times before

Men in expensive suits on television tell me not to worry

My meals are humble, and employment even more so

If only I were lucky, I could save enough to leave

The leaves fall from the tree into large piles with time, and outside, it always feels like autumn

The shadowed corners in the living room watch the glow from the TV at night while reruns of old shows play, never taking their leave here, even at midday

I do anything to stop this feeling of stagnation

Friends from the past pass through my vision in town like ghosts

Faded memories I’d rather avoid

The silent walks around duplicitous houses in the neighborhood are cut through by nearby sirens and small groupings of gunshots

There is a memorial for a woman who was struck by a drunk driver next to the sidewalk

It is lit at night by solar-powered lights

I ask for a warm day and a smooth pull from a joint

A new town and a new job

My bedroom feels as if gravity there is doubled

I cling to music and films, trying to touch that part that has been lost

Eyes closed, eyes opened

Cycle repeating

We are the strange in a new time full of old monsters

I think today I will lie in my bed with my blankets pulled up over my head

A thin veiled illusion separating the world from me

Nothing grows seemingly, except for me