The mattress has a stain.
's there for at least five years. Blood of someone that you do not even remember his face. The scrub smells. Of old and bacteria. Soap poor. Damp.
I changed the sheets once more. I have washed
to sixty degrees.
Last night I stayed in small bed. The green one. Does not stink, but there are two.
You know, something will change tomorrow. I'll be cold on my feet, without saying a word, bad eyes and mouth tight and white.
Tomorrow I will not fear to make you a slice in this house without keys in this room with no rocks stop my anger.
tomorrow I still defeat.
The chair has four wheels. Two do not work. The tappezzaria odds with the pillows.
grandmother in the kitchen frying bacon.
I look at the wall and blinked.
Provo with soda to send away the stain.
Maybe the sun. Perhaps
dry shampoo.
I come back to pick up cotton balls from behind the dresser.
To pretend anything with a hole for each.
I shut off by itself.
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