I cannot go
If I enter her abode
I am caught
Underpants drape portable phone
Fluoro pink lip-gloss
pressed deep into carpet weave
Tattered posters of slim male dream boys
hang askew
bluetac smears peeping beneath gloss paper wrinkles
A power board sits beneath a dripping tipped glass
the water striking plastic
and flowing off the side
missing the tine holes by nanomillimeters
The ipod sits on a pile of mags
the wire poking rude from stripped plastic sheath
A graveyard to consumerism
a testament to the accumulation
of stuff
I close the door
for if I enter
her abode
I am caught
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