The Pointless View (Poem)

The kettle screams against the grey,

Another damp and useless dawn.

There isn’t much you care to say,

My joke was bad, the punchline gone.

A room that breathes in peeling paint,

The floorboards numb beneath your feet.

You never aimed to be a saint,

Just something worn and incomplete.

The frost crawls up the pane,

A dead eyed television glow.

A dull ache settles in the brain,

With nowhere left for grief to go.

The tea sits cold, black, and ignored,

A heavy static chokes the air.

Both utterly, completely bored

Of trying to pretend we care.

No spark remains to start a fire,

No pulse inside this hollow chest.

Just suffocating, bleak desire

To let the quiet drown the rest.

The shadows swallow what remains,

The clock ticks down the pointless view.

Just freezing blood inside the veins,

And not

hingness to share with you.