The furnace makes a clicking sound

The furnace makes a clicking sound

as I lay flat upon the ground.

I’ve given up on getting rest,

there is a tightness in my chest.

I count the tiles above my head,

the things I should have left unsaid.

Fourteen rows of pockmarked white

staring back at me tonight.

In the corner, dark and wide,

a stain from where the water died.

It looks like a lung that’s been collapsed,

or a shadow of a time that’s passed.