I'll always be the shack you never thought you could leave.
The chipped paint and
the stained carpets.
The stairs that lead to nothing and
the fridge with nothing but stagnate beer in it.
The broken windows that allow the brisk air to sneak in
and the ***** dishes flooding the sink.
I just hope that when you tell people about my cobwebs;
that you tell them who ******* made them.