Pisaries Creator

A good wave from a hand is hard to come by.

I should know. I do know.

You don’t want to know about the left hand.

The trouble I tend to dive into.

I am followed into the bathroom.

Trouble leaves dirty handprints on the walls.

I yank old memories from the sink,

like long hair clogging a drain.

The putrid smell doesn’t stay in one place.

It follows me into the kitchen.

The chair I sit on, and the table I eat from

have chunks missing from the legs and edges.

I do not see any food on the surface.

My fingers grip an empty fork.

I should let the fork drop to the floor.

It won’t break. Thick plastic is strong.

I will keep it in case I need to use it for later.

The trouble grows in my stomach.

My hand covers the hidden pain.

I don’t know what is in the drain.