Dust Settles

Dust settles.
I survey the neglect
selfishly inflicted.
Surfaces are coated
with a fickle blanket
designed not to protect
but to disguise.

My fingers run
through the deception.
I know I failed.
My furniture cries
to be cleaned.
The pleas fall
on deaf eyes
and blind ears.

There was a time
when I cared
that my plants die
and floors cringe.
Today is not
that day, tomorrow
won’t be either.