Silverfish

Everything is Trying to Destroy Me and My House

I wake to the sound of burning: a flickering.
My eyes adjust to the morning darkness quickly as red and yellow slip between the doorframe, tearing at the pale wood and metal. The room is black, typically, but in this moment I can make out the base of color through even sheets of smoke. It reminds me of ice, ironically, and for a moment I imagine a scenario in which this would not be happening. I'd be dreaming instead, perhaps even of the exact place and circumstance. My dreams are always an endeavor in which proves to be semi-escapable. This is too, if I could only find the time to crawl through the window adjacent to the foot of my gold bed. It's gold because my walls are plumb, although they're black now.

Actually, black with a grey base, yellow tint.
But besides that, the air was getting thicker as was my tolerance, headed directly in the opposite direction. I peered through the muddy window before pulling the screen off, falling right onto the plush green surrounding the house.

I pushed myself away from the smoke but it continued to hug my body, desperately attempting to escape that very same plight.
I sighed and allowed acceptance, laying in the dying grass, inhaling my memories and charred sheetrock.