Yellow Kitchen Walls

i don't want the empire anymore.
just enough warmth
to scrape the frost off my bones.
a body, willing. not love, no.
a small, manageable affection,
like a chipped teacup.

waiting. again.
the years, paper-thin,
tearing at the edges.
static crackles from the radio.
yellow kitchen walls,
the color of piss and regret.
empty bottles accumulate
like fallen soldiers.
listening for footsteps
that won't come.
or maybe they will,
and that's the real horror.

death. i hope it's quieter.
less yellow. less waiting.