empty words

Empty words.

Light fading slowly across the walls, an entire day wasted.

Crumpled remains of failed art projects littering the floor,

And stains on the carpet.

Jeans that have occupied the same stretch of floor days now, wrinkles setting in to stay.

Cluttered boxes of pencils and paintbrushes and notepads with one page used.

A scattering of small watercolor portraits hung on multicolored thumbtacks.

Small doodles on the vaguely off-white wall above a smooshed pillow.

A dusty fan set on medium balancing precariously on top of an old tv.

Piles of clean laundry sorted by color, a veritable rainbow in the closet.

One sock.

A wall of books stacked by subject.

Wires intersecting across the floor like interstates on a map, tangled

Like the sheets, flannel gray and bunched at the corner.

A dirty tray of paints, long unused, next to an empty roll of tape,

And an open journal, full of empty words.