It was supposed to be a bedroom
But being too small for habitation,
Instead we used it for the storage
Of old things like toys and memories,
Just unwanted fragments of ourselves
That might have been useful once.
As you look around, my unstable thoughts
Like a drunken conversation overheard
Gloss over the blank page void
Of the whites of your eyes,
Because you don’t want to be told
What I need you to know.