I once had a headache from one too many oranges

by shira

We put holes in buildings
Fresh air is good for breathing
But I need more and
Use a baseball or a fist
Shards of my aquaintances
Get stuck between the panes

Scaling the stairs
To take us to our rooms
Tires out our legs and
Liberates our thighs
We all come in pairs
With our best friends and our bookends keeping words off of their sides

The walls inside my scented oil bathroom pick up grime
Of girls all down the hallway
Injecting color to their faces
Dimensions divide all the rooms
Puff up to wake up raccoon-eyed
And maybe with a drowned-rat boy lying in bed

The empty spaces I stay close to
Make me feel like an orange
Avoided by someone who wants
A drunken scoop of something
Walls between us take up space
Like I would in a punch bowl