Two stampy housemates down,
Including the one from the room above—
No more creaking floorboards (for now),
From the movements of replacement zombie;
Yes, the zombie housemate about which I’d complained for so long,
Who stumbled around full of alcohol, at all times,
Barely alive and dropping food and drinks all over the place,
They actually moved out around last November;
I was too exhausted to make any fanfare about it,
At first, I dared to believe it;
But the point at which I knew for sure they’d gone?
—When the stench of death began fading from the communal areas;
And I’m not exaggerating;
It was the smell of death, and I don’t know how one person can create such a smell and permeate the walls with it,
But they did;
Yet another inexplicable thing was that the zombie was replaced by somebody demographically identical (though not a zombie!)—
Same physical build,
Same dress style,
Same hair colour and style,
Same general body movements;
I even feared they were in fact the same person after the first couple of brief glimpses in the dark!
Of course I barely saw them since I’m confined to my room,
But I most definitely heard them thanks to the broken floorboards,
And it required maximum discipline with ear plugs and headphones,
24-hour maximum insulation;
And was it a coincidence that I started writing again within a day or two of this sensory onslaught disappearing?
I would hope so, because after what I was saying recently about finding strength and new perspectives,
I don’t want to in fact be so simply dictated in such profound ways by the whims of this oppressive environment,
All the meaning and opportunity for recovery that is within my control being stripped away and handed back, arbitrarily.