Stale Sink on a Sunday

Sink

Full of 
Dirty dishes,
The tap leaks
Drip....
       Drip....
              Drip....
 
Time has never been so lucid;
Depravity etched
Inside each eyelid
As the room
Reeks
Of stale bread,
Mouth of
Sour mash
And of 
Diluted
Bloody Mary's. (Ketchup vodka)
 
Stacks of
Self help books
Right next to
Mountains
Of unopened
Letters
Marked urgent
Or
Final notice.
 
    I'll never read them.
 
The whole
World;
A tired
Entirety. (Hungover)
Gardens
Deserted,
Wilting crooked
And hunched over
From the crushing poverty.
 
The roaring
Of the flies
Matched by the rhythmic
Sink
Full of 
Dirty dishes,
The tap leaks
Drip....
       Drip....
              Drip....

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My country
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741