security

the soft strings of the carpet nudge against my back

creating small imprints along my skin, itching, begging for me to sit up

my eyes fixate on the bright bulbs casting from my ceiling fan, burning, forming fresh pools at their edges

i shiver with each whir of the blades, desiring the pile of blankets to the left of me, but too withdrawn to reach them

i can sense the past presences, the prior sensations of comfort

inching further away

past the gold curtains, past the tiny twinkles of light, past the panes of glass

until they're lying in the street like shards of bottles crunching beneath tires

my security has always had an expiration date

a defined, temporary existence stamped with saturated ink, illustrating its eventual departure from me

i try to hold myself together, my bare arms wrapping around my torso

attempting to fill previous molds until my skin feels whole

but my arms are too weak

room

i climbed up the stairs

to view my room for the last time

my bedroom of nearly 18 years

now a bare recollection

there are so few traces of me in this room now

its baby blue walls covered up by an expressionless tan

the years of photos peeled away

the contents sifted through

until my belongings, my memories, my life

could somehow fit into cardboard boxes and black trash bags

all that remains are the sporadic splotches of teal left on the baseboards

or the slight indentations on the carpeting of where my bed had rested

the bed my father tucked me into every night for years

and the one on which my dog gleefully greeted me every morning, propping his chin against the mattress

i glanced out the window

the window i once tapped on to say goodnight to my mother while she sat outside

looking out onto the yard i once played cheerfully in, catching lighting bugs on the first days of summer

i realize now how small this room is

i hadn't noticed over all of these years

how cramped it truly is

it never felt that way

alleviation

the stoplight glows between my eyelashes

the murmur of the humid wind slowly wafting into my car

wrapping my skin in warmth instead of the coat i refused to wear

my clothes reek of an eight hour shift

i have the desire to take a few showers

to bathe in scorching water

the light turns green

and i feel as though i'm the only person moving in the world

the streets are bare, the flesh and bones of the town are etched beside me

i let the song continue to play

that one that i never seem to skip

even though i don't care for it all that much

and i just feel like singing

letting the voice i hide so deep within me

to climb out and be liberated

to wedge itself between my body and the windshield

performing to an audience of one

and somewhere

amid the minimal turns and muted street lamps

i feel the overwhelming sensation of alleviation

that whatever i am enduring will be mended

that my hardships will subside

and my mind can be at ease