Among these cold, greyscale walls,
my eyes take in the ultraviolet peering through the window,
like a nosy child peeking around the corner.
A yawn, followed by a cough, trailed closely by the hollowed
and shrill cry of youth, detonate the buildup of TNT within.
Shut them up!
Just let me sleep!
Placing my weathered face in the pillow, I attempt to drown the cries,
but alas, such is not the case.
The volume swells, along with the television, as what should be
a quiet morning in which I can recover lost dreams quickly turns
into the Battle of Little Bighorn.
I lay, staring at the ceiling, textured as my face has to look with
all of the stress I’m under, thinking about ways to dismantle
the juvenile atomic bomb five feet to my right.
I come up with nothing, unfortunately.
Well, at least nothing that could end cleanly.
I close my eyes.
… And seethe.