Without Purpose

Dull days begin early.

Usually with a cup of coffee.

It's been a long journey.

Days consist of sitting

on a rundown sofa.

Hours knitting

with its

moldy aroma.

Days are spent wishing

I had a different persona.

Murmurs of an old

television echo.

It seems my memories are getting narrow.

Through rooms of peeling paint.

It seems that the only task left,

is watering the

lifeless garden plants.