as I look around this shithole
apartment

with

empty boxes
ashtrays overflowed
3 $1 bills to my name
ten cigarettes in the pack
no food in the fridge,
I feel a power like no other:
it’s ambiguous 
but it’s life
it has a story
it breathes through the holes
of these faded black curtains
before it calmly touches
my skin                              then
slooowly peels it off
to check my overflow;
it doesn’t check my pulse
it doesn’t need to
it knows me
it knows who I am
it knows that I know

that

when a situation doesn’t
feel good
it still beats that old hag
Oblivion.