Landslide

Fluorescent lights flicker
from cream colored and cracked fixtures,
blinking my daylight to the
beat of a deranged drummer.
I've been in this hole for years,
aching to return to real
sunlight
instead of it's manufactured counterpart.

I count days by the number
of tremors and worms
who crawl sickly
through my muddy prison.

my living room is now a mire,
the potted plants have long since
expired to fertilizer,
the couch is caked in
the crumbling ruins
of the dropped ceiling,
windows browned
seems like a smoker
lived here for years
without cleaning.

I'm still sitting in my corner
afraid to move,
wondering where and when,
or even if
anyone will find me in
the emotional landslide
that covered me
so long ago.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved