An empty house
on a cloudy afternoon

If I had known
I would've packed my bags
And escaped this harsh reality

Surround myself with people
Drown all the muted silence

Dripping drops
In my kitchen sink
Wasting water
As I'm wasting ink

My therapist
Told me to write

So many times I've craddled a journal and caressed a pen
Only to find myself falling asleep
With the ink flowing on my skin
Like its trying to write something

I once woke up to an ink stain on my couch
Finally some color in this boring pastel house

An empty house
Isn't an empty home

Sometimes I forget