Name Unknown
She lives in a cramped apartment,
stark grayed walls and dim light.
A painting fades from the suns rays,
that penetrate the grime.
No window drapes or coverings,
open instead to the fading sunlight,
and the cold of night.
A kettle on the sill,
no space on the counter.
A bed pushed to the corner,
facing a small TV on a small table,
sat upon a sea of papers,
and red letter bills.
Clothes in piles,
nowhere to hang.
A candle melted down and dead.
A deck of cards scattered and missing.
A soggy joker is in the bathroom,
sharing the cramped room of mildew,
with a black queen.
The shower head points to the toilet.
At the basin only the cold tap works.
The small medicine cabinet erupts,
spewing bottles, pots and tubes.
Wrinkled 2-ply and a puddle,
where the drain is blocked.
A run of water escapes,
slowly tracing a familiar trail,
across the worn lino,
toward the fading painting.
The home is silent and still,
as the rooms creak and drip.
She is working one of her three jobs.
She is never home.
She is never on top.
She never stops thinking how happy she should be.
She never stops to think how happy she is.
She is never living.
She doesn't want to be alive.
Her name is...
By J. Barrett
