She unlocked the stiff door,
Shuffling into the vacant shell of a house.
Dim lights shadowed the pale
Walls and messy bed.
She dragged her tired feet to collapse,
On the worn couch, sinking into the
Dusty brown fabric of what was once
A center for merry conversations.
The white ceiling stared back,
Daring her to closed her glazed eyes,
Fighting the fan’s dull lullaby.
His cough alerts her of his presence,
Stumbling into the room, muttering
About medications. How could she forget?
The constant phone notifications, the never ending
Pile of doctor notes, the rhythmic sneezing
To match the constant whirring of the DVD player.
She grasped the bag of pills and carelessly
Tossed it onto the table. The crafted maraca
Breaking his rambling nonsense chatter.
Stuttering an empty “thanks”, he turned
Toward the stairs and hesitates.
She feels his stare glaring into the back
Of her head, and she holds her breath.
Taking a big breath, he quickly shuts
His mouth and retreats up the stairs,
Leaving her to resume her staring contest,
With the shadowed white ceiling.