Apartment Darko

I'm sitting in my broken down apartment
on my bed without any sheets
and with a floppy piece of shit I call a pillow.

I turned all the lights in my room off
but the streetlamps below mix together
with the sound of prostitutes,
and make it harder for me to go to sleep.

I close my eyes and think about the world.
I hear police sirens wailing a few blocks away,
a bedtime sound I've lived with for years now.

I wonder if someone's died, who it was, and why.
That sound is like a wave, going up - back down,
and up - and back down, over and over,
night after night after night.

The faint hum of the overhead fan
that only has one speed - slow,
perpetually drones me in to a sleep.

There I'll dream of things that I hope aren't dying.
I don't want the streetlamps shining in my face,
and I don't want the sound of sirens in my head.