House Lights

The floor is a sea of hardened sugar,

sticky enough to keep me in my seat.

I am hiding here like a common beggar

from the glare of the sun on the city street.

The screen is a desert of unlit white

waiting for the flicker of a lie to start.

There is something holy in the lack of light

that matches the rhythm of a tired heart.

Down in the front, a soda has spilled

reflecting the Exit sign’s bloody glow.

The air is stale and the room is chilled,

and I have nowhere left I need to go.