Inanimate
The things have stopped talking to me, in my room. While it smiles at me now, as though we were friends, the alarm clock in front of me used to converse long into the night before it woke me up the next day. That mannequin once showed me how to do the electric boogaloo, now it only moves when it falls over.
I blame myself. I blame myself and that's why I sit here now in silence, without even the couple pictured on my misappropriated pencil-case chatting in the background. I used to come home and complain about work to them. About him, or about her. About them and about me. Talk bitterly and at length about everything that moved. They'd rally round and cheer me up, but then it stopped working, and now they've stopped trying. I didn't notice at first, that the only words in the air were mine, and that they were all negative. Now it's deathly obvious, and now it's too late.
Even the lyrics don't talk to me any more, and it's all my fault, and if I listen to myself even now, I realise I still don't know how to stop.
I blame myself. I blame myself and that's why I sit here now in silence, without even the couple pictured on my misappropriated pencil-case chatting in the background. I used to come home and complain about work to them. About him, or about her. About them and about me. Talk bitterly and at length about everything that moved. They'd rally round and cheer me up, but then it stopped working, and now they've stopped trying. I didn't notice at first, that the only words in the air were mine, and that they were all negative. Now it's deathly obvious, and now it's too late.
Even the lyrics don't talk to me any more, and it's all my fault, and if I listen to myself even now, I realise I still don't know how to stop.