Household things

Household things

the ones that frighten you so

a bar of soap, a comb, a TV show

projections of our normal

kosher we can stomach,

the limit of our freedom,

freedom we allow ourselves,

in petite lyrical verses

and the refusal to sleep

before midnight

often, these plans are disrupted

when our phone rings

and it’s someone

calling from reality

not the one we manufactured

but the one we can’t control

it keeps ringing and so does

the voice in our heads

let it ring, it says

tank the fucking thing, it says

the devil is awake

but we can’t let go

so we choose a moment

of sanity, above all else

to forever be insane

to be human

behind the walls that

surround our selves

but our comfort prisons

are made of glass

and they crack

at an unwanted call

of mutiny, the out of breath

canary you shoved

in the paper shredder

is still singing

just loud enough

for you to hear

and wander through

the desert searching

for a well.