Stare into the corner of your room
And actually look
You can’t see it can you?
All the dust and disgust that’s growing as I type
It’s just sitting there like your ego-
In front of your reality
That dust starts to float to the counters and the edges of your picture frames.
Creeping through the air- and only seen when the light pushes through the windows.
It surrounds you day by day you breathe it in and out
Until one day you see a dusty figure sitting in the room right next to you.
You move closer to see if it’s real -come to find they smell so familiar you begin to feel comfortable around them.
The figure copies your every move and listening to everything you say, becoming your shadow and growing with time.
And then you turn around, and see a monster.
He stomps around claiming his territory and you are thrown into the corner. Reality check.
Not so clean, is it?