my frame sways in the wind
the breeze lifts the shingles on my roof
years of precipitation slowly wear away at the brick
I'm tired of the plywood covering my windows
sick of the empty chairs
I can't breathe under the 6-inch layer
of dust and neglect
these patchwork remains of home
don't satisfy me any longer
they say you can't help others
if don't help yourself
but these four walls mean nothing to me
so let me do what I can, while I can
and when my foundation finally crumbles
I'll let go of what I have
sell my sewing machines
give you my collection of glue guns
so maybe you can hold your own when I'm gone
peel away the duct tape
that's kept me in one piece for so long
and throw it to the wind
I'm falling apart at what's left of my seams
and I'm gonna let it happen.