Life from the plugside

You promised me so much more
when we moved in together,
it’s no picnic
seeing things from this end.

Fragrant shampoos
don’t make good conversation,
and that bathroom sponge, I need to forget
what you did to it.

Sponge hasn’t spoken since,

and you can’t leave me in chains,
dangling forever.

All day I look up to the ceiling,
or wait for the light-pull
when darkness sets,
hopeful for a release,
only to be pushed down again.

When I am released, you’re gone,
it’s sadistic.