Restless and Petty

I bear mistrust towards things
(things as in physical items I find all around me),
As when I’m confined to the mould my room,
My mind wanders over their inanimate beings:

Looking at me with invisible eyes is the drawer
So eager to block my path in the dark.
A plastic bottle I left by the heater
Would not hesitate to startle me with erratic pops.

The toilet wouldn’t refill when I least suspect betrayal.
I don’t know what wrong I did to it.
The ceiling would rush towards me in my sleep.
I know it, although I haven’t yet caught it red-handed.

I often contemplate the fact of possession,
But I haven’t quite figured it out.
I know I give life to things by simply existing,
How they achieve meaning through my trembling hands:
Yet when I expect most basic concessions,
I don’t even get a smidge of respect.

When I go outside, it gets even worse:
Countless times I've had things desert me.
I fear being left there, unsheltered and bare,
With nothing to cling to the skin,
But the eyes of a bus
Passing a sneering petulant bus stop.