Sitting at home all day

an attempt to leave my life for a moment,
that's all it takes
the squirming insecurity, the wasteland of garbage time taken up
by otherness
it smells remotely like clean linen covering stale dust
and to be departed is a sin in and of itself
an attempt to leave my life for a moment,
just to look back at it - stare into it's putrid eye
grimace, snort, scowl, tense
the act of self mutilation never quite complete.
the dull timeless tickling of a young clock
a freckle, a speck, a spot.