The sort of home you want to be in,
When all you can focus on are the buttons of his suit,
Tightly woven into the fabric, brand new
Is not the same house you were in when he was alive
Its 3 AM staring at the floor, begging for the sleep to take you,
Anywhere
Even nightmares are better than this, nothing.
The solemn stares churn my stomach,
Somersaults with acid, my body lurches
Doubling over in the pain that is grief.
When the eyes in a room all fixate on you,
It's difficult to hide in a box inside your own head,
Because they tear the walls from your fragile shelter,
And their rain is a burning flame,
You are the match that refuses to be put out,
But wants desperately to feel nothing.
The sort of home I want to be in is
Roses, the thorns cut clean from the stem,
Green tea, just the right temperature
And an old console with his favorite game loaded up
But that house is abandoned,
Left like last week's sawdust,
Swept under the rug in a pile of books,
And i am the can of kerosene in the corner of the room,
Waiting to be used in the most vile of ways.
I am an unlit candle in the midst of a hurricane,
The shadow of the night sky blotted out by the moon
I am the fading smile of remorse,
The pang of guilt,
The sorrow of loss
I am the broken inside of you,
The one that eats away at you until the shell is broken apart
And you are all that's left
In the dictionary, i look up sad and expect a picture of me,
Depressed is myself in my room, alone
Suicidal is the knife i once picked up,
Daring to question if my own beating heart was worth the blood
My House is boarded windows and jail cells,
The crawlspace of cobwebs and creaking stairs,
The leaky roof and patchy ceilings
I am all but a finished mess,
And my foundation is cracked and split.
There is always vacancy,
Because who wants to stay in a house like that?
I’d rent out the rooms, but i'm paying for their rent
if they choose to live inside these decrepit walls
I only wish someone would see the shambles
As a start, and not the leftover parts from a failure,
If these 4 walls housed opportunity,
Instead of destruction.
My house, is a home that i long since enjoyed.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 6:40 PM UTC
The sort of home you want to be in,
When all you can focus on are the buttons of his suit,
Tightly woven into the fabric, brand new
Is not the same house you were in when he was alive
Its 3 AM staring at the floor, begging for the sleep to take you,
Anywhere
Even nightmares are better than this, nothing.
The solemn stares churn my stomach,
Somersaults with acid, my body lurches
Doubling over in the pain that is grief.
When the eyes in a room all fixate on you,
It's difficult to hide in a box inside your own head,
Because they tear the walls from your fragile shelter,
And their rain is a burning flame,
You are the match that refuses to be put out,
But wants desperately to feel nothing.
The sort of home I want to be in is
Roses, the thorns cut clean from the stem,
Green tea, just the right temperature
And an old console with his favorite game loaded up
But that house is abandoned,
Left like last week's sawdust,
Swept under the rug in a pile of books,
And i am the can of kerosene in the corner of the room,
Waiting to be used in the most vile of ways.
I am an unlit candle in the midst of a hurricane,
The shadow of the night sky blotted out by the moon
I am the fading smile of remorse,
The pang of guilt,
The sorrow of loss
I am the broken inside of you,
The one that eats away at you until the shell is broken apart
And you are all that's left
In the dictionary, i look up sad and expect a picture of me,
Depressed is myself in my room, alone
Suicidal is the knife i once picked up,
Daring to question if my own beating heart was worth the blood
My House is boarded windows and jail cells,
The crawlspace of cobwebs and creaking stairs,
The leaky roof and patchy ceilings
I am all but a finished mess,
And my foundation is cracked and split.
There is always vacancy,
Because who wants to stay in a house like that?
I’d rent out the rooms, but i'm paying for their rent
if they choose to live inside these decrepit walls
I only wish someone would see the shambles
As a start, and not the leftover parts from a failure,
If these 4 walls housed opportunity,
Instead of destruction.
My house, is a home that i long since enjoyed.
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