do you stare at my dirty socks?
do you clean around the mess I’ve made?
are you letting everything stand still
quiet, unchanged?

the shampoo which barely fits
on the corner of the shower’s eyes
have you moved it where it has
no chance of falling, or are you
waiting for me to come catch it?

my mother says I should gather
my trails when your not there,
to let the hurt be less.
but I think,
when I pick up my shirt
out of your drawer, I might
just puke all over your floor.