eight thirty-nine p.m.
eight thirty-nine p.m. • Shauri Cherie
i’m alone in a house,
my house, barricaded in my bed by the monstrous mountain of blankets i’ve accumulated & pillows my depressive thoughts decided i needed & on my left is a broken dresser swiped from my cousin that i use as a stand for goose the fish who prefers his food in flakes instead of pellets & as night slips in through my window,
i stare at a white ceiling and wonder—