Little bits of you are scattered around this place.
Here are the steps you rested your thoughts upon while you smoked.
Here are the dust pans and assorted brooms that you once blessed with your touch but now they just hang around and slump to one side.
This is the rug you stumbled upon in a hazy trance time and time again
These are the hallways and the people that led you to me.
And this is the door you'll never walk through again.
I look up and you're still not there.
This is the hell I've made for myself.
The pay is still **** but it's better then being stuck at home with you on my mind.