Past and Present
The first thing
is the clutter.
Yes, I admit to it.
Condensation clings against the hills and valleys
of dented plastic,
the water bottles
scattered over three puzzle-pieced desks.
Honesty curls over the scuffed wooden dresser
in sculpted forms
haphazardly teetering,
on a grapevine wreath
a backdrop of white-washed walls.
Coffee stained mugs
sit on once
desolate edges.
The monochromatic lengths of brown rug
like the dense earth
under cities of laundry and books.
And then immediately
The pills.
A strict line.
Evidence of a schedule, order.
I will not lie to you.
It is not disturbing,
the prescriptions,
only an acknowledgment of habit.
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