in the centre of my kitchen there is a blackhole

bigger than the doorframe that leads into it

it started off as a dark spot the size of a fist - easily ignored - an eyesore at best

i would walk past it every day, only side-stepping to avoid it

but now it takes up all the space

it reminds me of the barely noticeable process of growth

yesterday i was 15 with the whole world at my doorstep

today i am 24 and my door is locked shut bolted from the inside

and there is a black hole in my kitchen

i have to climb the counter just to get to the fridge

where i keep the cheese and the takeout

and the discarded dream i once had of becoming a prodigy pianist

that i always promise to return to

but i have found myself trapped in the arms of the clock,

time is a friend, and a lover and i was born bracing from the brunt of benevolence

which is to say, love tastes bitter in my mouth

there is only one ending to such a poorly written soliloquy

and it is neither beautiful nor bloody, only empty

there is no longer a clear passage to the other side of my home

and i can’t reach the things i had saved for later

one day i will try to get to where i want to be

and the abyss will swallow me

and when they come to clear my apartment

the cheese will have evaporated, and the takeout will have gone bad

and all that will remain of my dream is the stale smell of things left to rot