It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again

the looming stress of uncertainty paired with confinement and overtime becoming one with your surroundings, in a way.

Fingernails have become embedded into the drywall that makes up the four walls that surround me
They are embellished with rock'n'roll posters of people I will never be or never even meet cause half of them are dead anyway, and photos of better times
(Were they better? I have not made up my mind about that yet. Honestly, I don't even recognize the people in those photos anymore but I have nothing to replace them with yet and I think if I leave the frames empty it will look stupid.)

Footprints that stain the same spot I place them in every morning exactly 8 inches away from the bed frame next to the leopard rug
(I painted the leopard on it to cover the stain I accidently made with yellow paint.)

Wire veins

(This could be a reference to how technology has taken over our lives but it's also cause I think it sounded cool.)

Bad lungs paired with fiberglass insulation followed with a side of white residue around tender nostrils

Eyes that now resemble the monotonous windows that make up the face of some random building on 108th street in New York City
(Did you catch that? it was a reference to that "eyes are the windows of the soul" cliché, I'm trying to make this as easy as possible for you to read.)

If you peer inside this "soul" at any given time but also especially at around exactly 10:38pm, you might catch a glimpse of me repeating the cycle

Author's Note

I wrote this just to get my thoughts on paper. I tried a different style, wanted to find a way to display what goes on in my head while I write by creating a contrast between the cliché metaphorical poetic lines and having some light hearted comedic relief between the narrator and the reader.

Reviews

[Lathen Griffiths]

I enjoyed this very much Night Jasmine, it read like narrator and poet which I felt came across as unusual/original in a good way, I liked the lines about the photographs particularly the lines,

‘ (Were they better? I have not made up my mind about that yet. Honestly, I don't even recognize the people in those photos anymore but I have nothing to replace them with yet and I think if I leave the frames empty it will look stupid.)

These lines left me with a very distinct feeling of being in between events or times, one moment ended yet still waiting for another to begin.

An enjoyable and clever write here.

Lathen