I am a study in the degradation of the human soul. Precisely measured and trapped by each small piece of past gathering dust on my clutter laden shelves.
Spaces of consequence are eternally lumbered from deceit to deceit as I pretend in a mirror and proclaim myself a minimalist.
Ounces of effort leak from joints and jowls too slow to understand and too burdened to disagree.
I struggle to settle, fight against the outlines of a person bearing my name. I grasp for dreams while never believing they belong to me.
This canvas, blank and forever in states of disaster, is a space defiled until I learn.
These walls are mine, mine alone, and there is no blaring sign declaring “space for rent” across my skin.