Collapsing House
by Sinclair Freeman

I say your name so much that it
Becomes a strange
word on my tongue.
You ignore it, no-
Cringe at the sound.
I cannot pull you from
This collapsing house.
Wasted food
On the table, empty bottles
In the garbage.
You are an orange
Orb with bitter skin upon our bed and
I cannot
Pull you from this collapsing house.
I do not speak anymore because
You don’t care
to hear it.
I do not think you even know
That you hate my voice.
And I cannot pull
From this

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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