My house has seen too many monsoons
deranged doors shrieking in paranoia
The paint is flaky, lost to the elements
Teacups chipped and dusty, spoons bent in telekinetic fatigue
My fans are fans of decapacitation

But there comes a time that
you would like to cohabit this hostile hostel
With someone who is not bitter at the stars
Someone with doorbells and not medieval fortifications
With smiles that warm the winters and cool the Indian heat

I've lived this way for far too long, hiding from the sun
unworthy of someone on the other side of the bed
emotions unkempt, ruffled thoughts and passions raw
Torn smiles and hands skilled at pushing away
Words that shy from affection and the touch of death

I have a house to renovate, I don't know how to make it a home
So I sit on the porch, waiting, till they have had a look inside
Sit, till they decide this estate isn't real enough for them.