Written by Caela Magale
Art by Caela Magale
there is a hole in the ceiling,
and drops of the sky leak from it,
liquid crashing, dusty tiles-
i only watch.
i stop getting my job done,
it was something understandable to fixate on.
the leakage continues and so follows my stare,
quite questionable to the normal eye.
blame it on the world,
blame it on the news,
blame it on something that took place on December 2006,
blame it on an earlier occurrence earlier.
aside from staring, what could be done but blame,
for the uncertainty of a spike or a flatline,
on a heart monitor long learned to cheat.
lately the horizons are made up of deadlines,
or dead ends, they’re basically the same.
the blankets try to soothe, with the stars offer a visual lullaby,
but they could only do so much,
eyes shut yet these hypothetical targets don’t bat eyes.
deadlines meant for crossing out,
as am i