Drip Drop.

The lock clicks, And the apartment is left lifeless. Each piece of furniture lining the walls, Is lifeless under winters' creeping touch. The T.V. was left on, Playing reruns of "Dukes of Hazard". Silently it flashes in the background. A blanket is unfolded on the tannish stained couch, And a pillow rests near the arm. Crumbs lead from the small living area to the smaller kitchen. A bowl sits on the counter, Holding milk from cereal this morning. The milk is warm now. One of the drawers is left ajar, Plastic silverware is unorganized within. The mess of the kitchen leads into the smallish bedroom One bed; unmade. A small chestnut dresser, with clothes hanging from the drawers. Some trinkets clutter and a coasterless cup stains the wood. A towel has been thrown across the hardly carpeted floor, Leading into the minuscule bathroom. It is still steamy from a shower in the morning. A grungy toothbrush rests on the counter by the nearly empty toothpaste tube. The rusty shower head drips. Plinking into the hair clogged drain. It drips and drops, drips and drops, But no one is there to hear it.