Ash Trays.

Garbage cans stay full of semi-used paper towels. Mama threatens not to buy anymore. Flames continuously burn underneath the kettle, while midnight stares out the window. Air is crisp and paper thin. Thoughts ride along the edge of window panes in search of a new home. Ink plays in ten different fingers from evening - until - for.ever. Cellular phones ring not very often, except for the child's which contains voice mails and a couple scattered text. Drug stores, supermarkets and hallways satisfy the little freedom desired. Click, click, click. Routine, routine, routine. Spoons are attached to teacups, and teacups are always letting of steam. Sneezing and freezing are far to familiar. How can chivalry be dead if oven doors are constantly open? They are always amongst these people and these people are outsiders. She prefers light, while she wrestles with the dark. Cyber chats transform into welcome mats and socializing airports. Many different trips are taken in an instant. Dumbbells accumulate cobwebs as well as promises. Locks are turned, eyes are droopy and aches begin to come alive. Volumes are controlled and televisions become silenced. They lay their in a daze, hoping all becomes numb.