melting.

my cup of orange juice is so close to being dry. all i drink these days is orange this, berry that, and water. and liquor.

all in this empty infested apartment.

a dull light creeps from the corner of the room and gives different shadows to everything here. it's an odd thing to be the only living thing in this room.

there's a fan that doesn't have a low setting. a television. a piano. and a couch.

this is a living room, and i'm barely alive.

this place has yet to become my home.

i eat here. i sleep here. i shower here.

consequently, i live here. but this is no home of mine.

at this hour when the sun has deserted me, i do nothing but stare.

i stare at the absence of movement and the lack of sound.

and i'm frozen here.

the clocks refuse to tick and the lovely crater-layered moon pays no attention to this lackluster room. lounging about in what might as well be a still photograph.

but i don't care for myself as i devour coffee pots and apple cores. i care..