Peering into DepressingBlogGirl’s Window

Peering into DepressingBlogGirl’s Window

A Poem by Heath Rumble

I found this blog online and found it deeply depressing yet inspiring. I used a lot of what the blog was talking about (moving, robberies, childhood nostalgia) as background for this. The pic is her!


You’re envious of the shallowness

Of the cracks in your ceiling.

The fissures that run through your structural interior

Are much more alarming.

But like your landlord, you leave them.

Your tenant doesn’t pay enough rent for you to care.


You sit, curled up in the fold of your futon.

Outside, the air is



Filled with matter,

Incessantly shuddering with sound waves

Coming from distant


Block parties

Abusive husbands

And hacking smokers

Roaming the dead-empty street.


But you don’t listen to the sounds of distress.

You block them out.

If you didn’t,

You’d flash back to when you were robbed.

You know it’ll happen again eventually

That’s what Karen told you when you first moved in

You didn’t try to deny her

You didn’t have the right side

And even if you did

You lacked the effort.

You were done fighting

You had been done a long time ago

You just faked yourself out.


Now you’re here.

Blankets of electric blue fall upon you

Like gently blown dust

From the flickering TV screen.

The light flutters like fallen fairies

Haphazardly shimmering illumination

On your strewn household objects

And used TV dinner boxes,

Which lament the fact that

They cannot change their residual residence.


 You have a real blanket too.

Which provides you little comfort

From the cold that makes its way in.

But you don’t shiver.

Your skin has grown too thick

Yet, not thick enough, you think.


You sit there all night,

The TV seems muted.

At least, you can’t hear it

As you stare at the screen.

But you’re not really watching the screen

You’re not seeing the hopeless unfolding of

Requiem of a Dream again.

Your eyes have long since glossed over

Become distant



They are playing their own movie.

A slideshow that lulls them to weakness;

A film, that tortures you more than

The one playing out on your screen.

You know it’s late,

You don’t care.

You know tomorrow will bring another useless day.

No one knows you’re here.

Except for those who despondently care.

Your mom barely cares, she knows

Karen knows.

Perhaps that one person

Who occasionally comments on your blog.

But you don’t even care about him.


There’s the sound of a train.

You’re barely unaware of it.

A train. Big Whoop.

You used to love them as a kid

Didn’t you?

You think to yourself.

Of course to yourself.

No one else to think to.

Not when you’re so rejected.




They all spit you out or spite you.

Damn Erin and all her boyfriends


You don’t want to think about it though

You don’t want to need a man

The primal urge that this neighborhood has procured

Can be easily overcome.

You can learn it.

You tell yourself that

But in reality…


See you, in your little box

Closed in

But Shut out

There is no relativity here

There are no prime numbers

What are you thinking?

You’re thinking about how no one

Would here you scream

Or care

If someone broke in right now

You’re thinking what you’d do.

You’re thinking about all the years

That have been washed away

As though pathetically splashed

By the limp hose

That Chris used to spray you with.

Not the Chris that broke into your room

And took your money

Right before you moved here.

The Chris he was before he knew his friends

Those black holes of reason.


The fun times with him and Karen

Back in San Francisco

At your parents’.

Tiny water droplets on your

Boxy, geeky, glasses.

You were so pathetic, yet…

Why do you want her again?

Why do you crave being that girl?

Great, you’re crying now.


You need to learn how to box

Boxers don’t cry.

They also don’t appear weak.

You could see it in their eyes.

Those employers who interview you,

Peering into your soul.

You feel it now.

But you’re alone.

Yet… yes, someone’s here.

Peering into your soul now.

He’s very distant.

But it’s too late

And you’re already gone.

© 2010 Heath Rumble

Author's Note

Heath Rumble
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Added on November 18, 2010
Last Updated on November 18, 2010
Tags: depressing, blog


Heath Rumble
Heath Rumble

Chicago, IL

I am a student at Columbia College Chicago majoring in film writing and directing. I love fiction writing and poetry as well, and have refined my writing abilities over middle and high school. I somet.. more..