Household Mutiny
The numbers on the clock spell out a slurThrown at my head. The bed’s grown nails
Overnight. The pillow almost ate my head.
The carpet pisses on the cat. The closet leans
Closer each time I pass it by. The stove
Spits flames. The kitchen floor is wet
With bile, spit and hot blood. The living room
Seems a jungle where alien bugs hold domain.
Sofas like mountains. Curtains like thick vines
Where dust mites, flies and fleas swing at me.
They chase me out the house. To the garden
Where I now live like a loud dog shoved out at night.
Poetry by Sameen
Read 17 times
Written on 2025-10-21 at 15:19
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