dining room table II
silence is a living thing.
consuming the atmosphere
like a pressure vacuum,
fueling the storm of tension.
tangible and suffocating.
like flames.
uhaul waiting in the driveway —
his house of ghosts,
on Kenmore.
waiting for an ounce of breath —
anticipatory despair,
yet nothing.
he dropped me off and drove to his,
where we both played pretend,
never to address the fire
that consumed us within.
(this one is more shoddy and idk whats going on... but here r words)