unbrushed teeth

to wake up to a day
when the coldness seems to be swiped
and the windows making sounds like traveling cars

i lie under a whitened ceiling
next to a dog-eared book
wondering to myself

if there were to be certain things in life
they should be here
here, next to the staring ghosts and motionless light

---

here, where my little plant does not wave no more
green it looks, a bit saddened still
to drink three day old water
from the mug i feed myself with

to wake up to a day
when i lie untouched
unfed and understood
by every lie my dog-eared book told me

under the whitened ceiling
next to the roaring windows
a bit saddened
even a tad green may be