The typewriter gleam darkly in the moonlight on the kitchen floor

typewriter keys scattered under the oven and some in the sink

The metal piece that hold the letter ‘M’ twisted

Before me is a window and on the windshield is a toaster

The toaster have flakes of crusted bread on top

A plant stand next to it that never dies

The leaves wither and bloom again

I never looked up what kind of plant it was.

The drapes are wet with spittle and spots of dirt from another time

The window is always clear at night

On the outside a shadow walks, stops, then walks again

Did he see me?

A faint light come from the hallway

He might’ve seen me.

Where do people go at night?

I wonder if the bottle I left in the bushes outside is still there

I wonder why I left it there

The papers scatter as I try to lift myself up

a pen rolls away.

What now?

As I lay there, I notice the ink ribbon was torn right off

That hurt me worse than the impact

It’s sunny out and its blaring at me from the window

I rolled under the table so no one would see me

Not that it mattered

I’m pretty sure somebody have been watching from across the road.

Another man stopped outside my window

His head is hidden by the curtain

I wonder what he’s looking at, what he’s doing

He’s been still for a while

being completely still.

The small people finally emerge from the outlet

It’s always a party when they arrive

The keys are put on regular now

and words appear on paper

The little people come closer, fascinated by the tinks and tanks

If it’s good they will continue to party

If it’s bad they’ll bite my fingers

and I’ll end up on the floor again.

I wish those little bastards would just leave me alone.