The Truth

Flesh seeps through the floorboards of the house they paid for. 
They run the nine to five and pay with plastic for the comforts and consistency. 
But she still hears him at night, crying in his closet --- muffled sounds from the crush of the clothing around him.
He comes out of the wardrobe with a smile, but lines as deep as earthquake cracks in the ground 
tell the truth. 

Holding On

The billboard sign strips down to the metal. 

All you can see are the letters on the thin paper 

in rhythm with the wind. 

It's ending is just a 

sigh and a spurt 

in the silent night 

The screen door shuts. 

The dishwasher hums. 

You tuck your housecoat around your tight chest 

and rub your eyes.

You could have missed it, 

but you didn't.