A Man’s Apartment

Written by: Stella Kemp

A dry pot of pasta sat on the stove for three nights

I shove it in the fridge, nestled between rotten vegetables and foil

The cabinet is full of glasses.

They’re still wet.

Sinews tangle.

Knots in your hair.

The air

is thick 

and stale.

Spit slugged on the mirror

Sticky palms struggle to separate.

An everlasting stench.

Stains on unwashed mildewed towels cover skin with grit

Uniform tiles tessellated, 

               chipped

Grime in grout, wings of insects poke 

out the drain, torn by the current

stuck in a metal sieve

Millipedes crawl and fester, piling over one another in a great, inky mass

My feet turn black after I shower.

There's filth under my toenails.

Dirty bathroom floors make me sick.

Dirty bathroom floors make me sick.

I'll pluck every hair one by one,

two by two,

three by three.

Grab onto each artery

and pull them 

like strings

like a hook through this breast plate.

I break my ribs apart,

gripping onto each bone.

I hoist this soul out,

spine snapping.

A glorious window open wide onto the graffiti ridden streets of my lovely Berlin

 (it's sill still dotted with tobacco)

Out pours a bright light that fills and lifts

Norway maples fringe each apartment

Bees zip and give,

round and full,

guiding eyes to an Eternal Vastness,

It's golden!