The water drips constantly
from the faucet, awfully.
Appliances remain pouring heat
that stifles my pores in utter defeat.
A hairbrush rests near the sink
with hair, like snakes, in a link
that is fresh from when I used it last.
That morning seems far in the past,
but there it rests. My DNA--
perpetual, despite my passing day.
And here I am, still confined
by walls and windows so designed
to keep things out and lock us in
even without my wilted skin.
I am so stifled by heat and rooms
too small for lives and living tombs.
I need an air vent in here--quick!
Maybe it can suck out my soul.