I walk back to a house
And slave away as a janitor in a hotel.
I whisk to my bed as I quietly walk past all the strangers in the lobby.
"Filthy! Your cotton clothes are repulsive", that is what they say.
Repulsive?
I intently look at myself with self-loathing seeing the heavy coat of wool.

I seek solitude as I walk away from the echoes of Spears and Daggers
I close myself off in a room of wet concrete drenched by a sea of thoughts which fills to its roof.
In this floodplain that has been my only home now drowns its only occupant.