some days

the floorboard that gasps when stepped on the blue bulb pulsing in an amber-lit room the coffee stain colonizing your blue shirt— some days, we’re nothing but a tiny inconvenience sharpen a pencil too far—it snaps gargled too long, you swallow by accident sending flowers too early— some days, we’re nothing but the clock that limps or leaps some days, we are the red shirt always missing— until we bleed into everything