Brushing on Words

Sex rings the room, much like dirt eventually ringed bathtubs. There were no bathtubs in this…room. I guess that’s what you could call it, a room. This room has a carpet, thin. The kind of carpet that could not disguise the concrete below it, hard. I walk around the stains left behind from my, well, episodes. But it’s hard to avoid things you wish to ignore. As a result I like to stay in the bed. I don’t like to say my, this isn’t my home, at least not anymore. This is a house. This is furniture. This is apliances. This is clothes, and shampoo, and cooking wear, and cereal bowls. This is a facade.