There are a couple of bottles in the corner,
the dim light reflects from the smooth round underside.
The carpet beneath the bottles is unclean,
it’s a red carpet but it is starting to turn to a thick grey.
Around the edges where the carpet reaches the wall,
this seems to be the place where the dirt gathers most.
The light within the room immediately soaks into the carpet,
immediately soaks into the light yellow walls with grease and pen on them.
The bottles sit there as the antithesis,
so smooth, so clean.
There seems to be no life,
but if you listen really hard you hear it,
the lightest of breaths,
and you realise there is a man who lives in this dull room.
This man, this boy, sits,
this boy hates those bottles more than anything else in his room,
looking in the mirror he sees nothing as the light soaks him in too,
as a shining example they lay in the corner.
