For long she hasn’t found an empty home.

Not that she loves empty home
But craves for her some loneliness
A little time and space all to herself
Where she wouldn’t have to wear a face
But bite her mind any what way she likes
Nibbling at memories chewing on dreams
That with no eyes around her
She would take out like a stolen artifact
Cherishing their display like forbidden
Crying laughing and then putting them back
To where they belong.

Not that she loves empty home.

But sometimes she needs
To have one her own.