Mayflies

you're snuggled up,

cuddling with the warm thoughts you've been lent.

your eyes, without vigor,

pry open at the slit of sun between your curtains,

their cloth an ocean blue.

the room, the blue room, the ocean

it perpetually drowns you,

and like the ocean,

you never seem to reach the bottom.

opening your door, the handle distinctly broken,

the water bursts forth and floods down the hall,

into the gameroom,

into the living room,

it cascades into the kitchen.

you take a gasp of air, your head finally above water,

and sludge your feet across the river,

a morning routine.

but outside your house,

the air is thick with mayflies.