Duo Side Table

There’s motor oil dripping from beneath my fingernails. I’ve been watching my hands these days; their pallid shape has become blurry. I put them over my ears to dampen the sound of the pounding footsteps around me of the world marching forward. Silence has become my dearest soft love. I’ve leached backwards into the wall, choking and hacking up drywall from my lungs. I’d like to sleep now.