distance

Voices pour through cracks in the floor, as I lie still upon my mattress. Posters fall off the moistened walls; she works with the flair of an actress. She scrapes my ceiling, the plaster is peeling, and falling as dense white confetti. I try to ignore the designs on the floor that reflect all the drawings she left me. The drawings that fall off the moistened walls; she works with the flair of an actress. The plaster debris that moves in the breeze of her voice from the cracks near my mattress. I try to ignore the designs on the floor formed from sinking and rising confetti. She scraped off my ceiling, thus finally revealing this night as a memory she left me.