MiserableNihilists

Inside our house, surrounded by plants, that soft light— the weakest shade of gray and waiting to turn it all yellow. I have slept and slept for days now, unfolding into small moments, only to see you orbiting our mattress, waiting for some type of human reaction, any kind of movement. I need a haircut. I need to shave and go to work and forget these days of no control where I’m a child again, reeling and afraid that it will always be this way, that I will always be in my room, alone until someone calls me down for supper, and then a bath, some prime time television, and straight to bed. I am locked outside of something