unravelling in the rain on a boring Sunday

pouring in from the leaking roof
the water, the weight, the gravel, the sand

hits the tables and cascades
over the chair and to the floor
the streak, the line, the current, the torrent

whispers stick to the walls, hidden under the coats of new paint
grooves in the floor have been ground down and stripped.
bare. refinished.

"watch me run down the hall way and not make a sound"
but no one sees it with interested eyes.
no one hears it, that was the point;
now i wish it was noisier.

the weight of the roof is massive
and the windows bulge and sag
the dirt foundation gives way and the house shrinks
but i see it.

how could i not notice
it's always in my head it's always on my mind
every updated picture is fuel for the fire
and a brisk breeze to boot.

no one shovels the snow on the walkway like they did
and no one runs to exhaustion like we did
tore it up reckless.
reckless.

and now the only way to have regret is to have done something stupid
the only way to miss something is to not have it
the only reason to apologize is to have broken something down.

and the thread comes loose.
unraveling in the rain on a boring Sunday
wasted with complaints of boredom
and now...