Imagine a room stripped of dignity;
Now add an old tattered sofa in a corner
and a dead fish tank in the opposite.
It doesn’t have to be fancy- just decaying.
Color the walls dirty yellow
and add splash of black smug here and there.
Hang old photos:
laughing faces and embracing arms.
Comfortable isn’t it?
Put a rug that has been slept on
and add the musty smell to it.
Don’t forget the old shoes and the coat hanger
with just a lonely coat for company.
This room had no windows;
only a wooden door with a broken knob.
A ceiling fan and warm lights
that flicker like the firefly at dawn.
Feeling hot already?
The cold tea cup has a grim in the bottom
that smiles across the yellow.
The parchment has ink across it
and the word writer written in bold.
The pen is broken.
You can hear laboured breathing.
Now place a man with a protruding belly
sprawled on the couch;
bubbles in his mouth and the stench of smoke about him.
He is a writer by profession
and this is his life.
Now try living it and tell me how you feel.