Room

This is a room.

A closed room, with open doors.

There is a roof above and we stand on floors. 

There is us inside of the room, us three and a broom.

We should sweep up this shit. 

But me and him we don't, we don't touch the broom within the closed room. 

We pretend we aren't there and we move away from each other and we stand across the room with the broom. 

We stood apart. We split.

She took the broom and she got off her chair, inside the room. 

And she swept and swept the shit and the dust, as if she had a duty to do so, as if it was her task. 

And he saw and he took the broom away from her hands and they cleaned the room with the broom. 

And he was loving and kind and I stood there as I watched and my resilience when soft.

This is a room is still filled with shit.

And like it feels like it was the cause of unfortunate events why us three had to meet. 

He was the one who made the room shit. 

All I could say was, "fuck that's lit"

She is as lost as I am in the room,

She don't know what the fuck to do with the broom. 

We are stuck here in this room, and the doors aren't open anymore.