Castevet Lautrec
i can't breathe this stale air, the walls are closing in.
the lamp is burned out, i haven't slept in weeks.
dressers decorate the walls, i hope they hold. the doors
are off their hinges, i haven't been back since. the
light peeks through the cracks, 53 days in this house.
enclosing footsteps, destroying the doors, the sound is
deafening. they're coming. and they keep coming in waves.
