Brooding

I clean the floors,
I clean the board,
Wipe wipe wipe
Now the windows are clean too.

All finished, I exclaim,
A good day's work I say.
I look around the empty hall room.
It’s nice.

The room is now yellow, melting orange, and tangerine.
All from the sun. Through the windows,
Open sesame, windows open, how lovely.
The cocktail becomes brighter, the air feels cooler
while blowing through my long dark hair.
Lovely, I say again.

I climbed up and sat on the window.
It's rather uncomfortable and scary.
It's one way down ten stories.

I still sit, silently, looking at the drowning sun.
My skirt is all perked up, I don’t fix it.
I can’t seem to care.
I cant seem to care for anything.
Nothing at all,
That's what it seems,
at least.

I wish I could confine this scene in a canvas,
with all my feelings with it.
I wish I could write down letters,
Expressing anything at all that matters.
I wish I could talk my feelings,
In a way, it seeps through others.

I can do not.
Either neither hether tether.
Snark.
I snark despite myself.
Maybe something of worth by me
is like hunting a snark.

I just exist.
I breathe and I live.
For what its worth,
I should've been a tree.

Maybe I will be able to do something.
I will find joy within my pink skin,
I will look back at how stupid it must have been.

But for now, I’ll just be around.
Looking at a sky growing dark.
And I reflect.
Trully though
It feels like I’m Hamet,
In a play that's not Shakespeare