Residence

My life echoes that of my shitty apartment. An aging exterior that has seen a few makeovers. Despite a new paintjob, hints of aging joints and rusty supports lie just beyond the surface.

If I permit one past the front door, a humble abode offers its greeting. Scents of lavender, coconut, and berries chase away the stench of mold permeating through the ancient air-conditioning system.

Another step further leads one into an interrogation room of harsh, unnatural light. Bicycles and exercise equipment laid out as a facade to show others that I attempt to care.

Through the hallway one finds a cramped and dank room tucked away from sight. Clothes are strewn about with camping gear and books that haven't been touched in months.

This is the real me. I'm hiding beyond the corner where no one can see. Disorganized chaos hidden from everyone. A depressing collection of artifacts from a past life.

Everyone loves the warm greetings this apartment can offer, but no one wants to remain here with the real me.