My room With my couch as a bed And the walls I hand-painted blue because the yellow was ***** and ugly With the spot on the wall I wrote my name on when I was seven
The thin walls I could always hear my dad sobbing and yelling through The thousands of records and things of his dead mother that he kept Especially his mother's plates which he only took out on birthdays
I miss "the music room" filled with instruments Damaged wooden floors And walls completely covered with paintings I've been making ever since I was five
I miss the big tree in our front yard The one I would hug whenever I was sad when I was younger The one I cried at on those last four nights
I miss the old floors How I knew exactly where they would squeak How I always used to get splinters from them
I miss the green sofa in our living room The one ripped up by cats My spot when I would watch TV
And I miss my desk It was where I painted It was the victim to all of my obsessions excluding this year Every one left it's mark on it
It's filled with all my memories It was where I always came back to And now I don't live there anymore
We didn't keep our house My dad kicked us out Though apparently I'm "welcome anytime" The last time I was there I wanted to cry It was a junk yard It looked and smelled like a crime
I miss my home Just thinking about it my eyes water I hate being sentimental like that I can't help it though I miss my home
This is really long, sorry
(This note was written by a dream you don't remember but scared you out of your mind)