We keep on filling things up

we keep on filling things up

clothes on bedside,

books on chairs

words on papers

ice teas on supposedly bottomless glasses

to the brim

to the edge

mid-level

a millimeter before the bottom

reaches out for a kiss

the fridge is piling up with take-outs

and food spoiled even from the second

we decided not to take the last bite

the hamper moans in mouthful agony

pillows push each other off the bed

if we can't have conversations,

nor notes to paint over the gaps

and all the sheep were yesterday's stew

there is always white noise

to light our shallow sleep

we run on full tank for miles

wind on our ears,

silencing the sounds of our stomach

the clumsy click of our tongues

the grief of yawns and guilt of hiccups.

water tanks tend to leak on the side

punctured by rust I guess

and rain is a promise unkept

so helium heads are sent up

lanterns lit filled with short-lived illumination

a commissary in the sky,

a split-second shooting star

we have rubbed against too many narrow walls

to even feel the watery splinters

that has wedged against our eardrums

between cottons and soundproof walls

ribcages and hollow halls

the things we drown ourselves with

always reverberates a deafening

loud and palpable echo.

April 1, 2013

11:46 AM