There was this white chair. It was molded like melted candy with a clear orange top, a junk chair of video games and old dolls. Smushed between the bed and the dresser, and the TV was definitely too close. It was the life, but it felt more like a dream. Sit and waste the hours...
Not a waste, a reprieve. A way to run away and escape ever troubled adults. A joy. Something that wasn't just fun to do, but was good. No productive reason other than to play a video game.
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PoetryA collection of poetry across ages, moments, and confusion. Tw - read at own desire
