you wake down

Poetry by Charles Spring
without body. you stumble through the abandoned house your
parents do not fight in anymore since they decided you were what’s 
souring their marriage. nudity ensues. no work, no school, no plans;
​you get to breathe today. but you are
alone.
notice the quiet. four bedrooms, two floors, never felt like
crawl space until today. you refresh the fridge after last night’s
voluntary starvation. bountiful. steak, frozen meals, pot roast
​fixin’s, left over fast-food burgers--you eat toast
alone.
turn on your phone. go to grindr. today is worse than yesterday.
seek attention. find the closest geriatric with desire for fresh flesh
and submit yourself to shaking mid-life crisis-ridden junkies for
better food--better life. milk him for your worth, but wake up
alone.
you crawl back into bed after steaming his pruned touch off your
tight skin. you made this home. the sun is still rising. does anyone
care about me anymore? the waking world is wearing. you go to
sleep, again--
alone.
About the writer
Charles Spring is a gay, nonbinary writer and college graduate from Tampa’s University of South Florida. Majoring in Creative Writing, his repertoire is eclectic. He uses writing to explore his personal life experiences, but also enjoys world building, fantasy, and comedy screenplay writing. While he is a Florida native, Charles decided to move to Boston, Massachusetts after graduating to start a writing career in unfamiliar territory. When he is not writing or working, he enjoys being reclusive in his room full of 58 stuffed animals or walking around the Charles River on sunny days. His dream is to one day live permanently in New York City to begin writing for television and ultimately having his own show. Until then, he enjoys late night writing sessions with fast food and Final Fantasy OSTs in the background “because feels.”