Wandering through this hostel, it was never quite my home
Different rooms, different people, different stories
How is it that their circumstances became my life…
Is it worth my time, my effort, my happiness… my sanity

Walking through the faux wood doorway, photos on the walls
Distant memories of what it was to laugh… and to love
Broken glass on the floor, the frames long ago shattered…
Much like our dreams of happily ever after.

My beautiful crimson sofa, turned into a bed.
The bed of a 60 year old alcoholic who I call dad
Tables converted to dressers, pill bottles litter the rug…
No longer a place to live, but a place to slowly die

An empty sink, an empty wine bottle, an empty fridge
What does it matter to cook a meal that won’t be eaten
Fast food wrappers fill the trash, among the cheap beer cans
Much like the stench of burnt coffee fills my nose

A ***** bathroom, for ***** boys, with whom I share this space
Toilet seat always raised, **** stains lining the bowl
Beard hair, toothpaste, razors… that dingy ring around the tub
A garbage full of used tissues, the floor littered with clothes

A closed door that leads to a black room, with black walls
Black metal, gory video clips from youtube, hateful faces flashing
Food wrappers litter the floor, along with knives and guns
Hatred and pain seep from the keyhole as I avert my eyes

To the trains and plains comforter, a dreamcatcher hangs nearby
Action heros, matchbox cars, an unmade bed, overtaken by imagination
The 13 inch t.v. switching between Disney and an old Gamecube
The smell of a sweaty mohawk, and a feeling of unabashed loved

Until finally I can retreat into hiding, to a bed with a story or two
Clothes to be folded, empty wine glasses, ******* on the bedside table.
I shy from the mirror that hangs on the wall, and drift off slowly to sleep
Drowning myself in forgetfulness, wishing it were that easy… to forget