Condensation

I tell my troubles to the wall,
But they give me no wisdom at all.
For all the ears they have, they sure,
Don't seem to pick up a word.

I confess my sins to the stairs,
But there is never anyone there.
And you start to hold a little grudge
That stairs can bend so much and judge.

I read novels to the T.V.
Of all the shit that's wrong with me.
And serious risks of health like stroke,
Are telling me I'll die alone.

And so it seems the condensation,
On my window
Makes excellent
Conversation.