There are people who crave intimacy
To be truly ****
And allow another person to glance inside their soul and judge the crude decor of every hour leading up to that moment
because they've a vacant space to rent

God knows they worry
They've arranged the room wrong
Take pride in that the dishes are never *****
The bed never slept in
With only one place to sit

Then there are people like me
Who crave emptiness
Because the room is far too crowded
Futons full of drunken lovers who put their Cigarettes out on the walls
Never asking if it's okay to stay
So I ******* hate them

I think I crave the empty people
Because they come inside
Never close the door
With a box of my old shoes under their arm
Wave to me
Never say thank you
And wipe their feet before they leave

(b.r.o.)