Velocity and Neglect

The air got heavy, thick with June,

I pulled the cord to change the tune

of the stagnant heat inside the room,

and brought down a sudden, graying doom.

A heavy dreadlock of oily lint

fell from the blade, a filthy hint

of all the months I spent asleep

while the grime gathered, soft and deep.

It landed on the pillow, right on my face,

this fuzzy ghost of a lonely space.

I should have cleaned it, I meant to try,

but I let the quiet filth multiply.

Now the fan is spinning, wobbling high,

shaking out dust like a leaden sky,

and I'm just standing here, covered in grit,

waiting for the rest of the world to quit.