Sofa

look at you, so old and worn.
your back not as soft upon mine,
your cushions slowly sinking.

your feet are swollen from standing
in the same spot for so long; your
rectangle prints indented in my carpet.

your arms so scared from the cat;
look, a burn mark from something,
i can't remember what.

you groan if something sits on you,
you bend low as if you can't bear
their weight any longer.

you smell like air freshener,
but that doesn't mask
that musty death smell.

your old, ill
slowly
dying.

i drag you to my attic;
my friend Alex helps
me out.

once your up their,
we sit upon you
exhausted.

Alex trys to kiss me
but thats a fuck no
i yell at him to leave.

the door slams and
i am left alone to
silently mourn you.

after i weep into your open arms,
i carefully cover you with a
white terry cloth.

days later i check on you
only to wonder how dust
accumulates so fast.