precious wings

Messily painted, yellowing walls
Streaks and dents,
pieces of used blue tack.

A fly around an open bulb flits and then falls
Upon my lap where I am sat
(in a green, faux leather arm chair)
Cracking with despair.

Irregular and often non-existent.

I stare, to burn a hole,
Lighting only indifference
In your slinking shoulders and drooping head.

The fly only half dead
Buzzes and writhes.

(wet and warm on my thumb,
Precious wings…none)

Cotton clothes, china mugs, patterned plates, aluminum cans, broken bottles, moldy foodstuffs amass in force.

Superficially you tidy the mess
But in truth it makes it no less,
More and more and more
(Entangled ‘tween my hairy toes)
More and more the feeling grows,
Half dead flies fill the cracks appearing.

You don’t come back
To take me with you
As I assumed you had promised.

Why should you?
If you don’t care no more
If you care no longer
If you don’t care
You don’t care,
No more.
No more you care
No more you
Care,
No more you.