My eyelids paint a different shade of paradise each morning.
Forced to make a mural of the world I was born in.

Your barren brown and battered blue,
Are only beautiful to those you matter to.

The clouds, in their grey suits, had promised you greener pastures.
We could've taken better care of you, if only you'd asked us.

You're inanimate by definition,
To me you're the only thing truly living.

We're sorry for trashing the house as if it was our own.
We'll clean it up before dad comes home.

All this destruction is something I can do without.
Sorry mom, I'm moving out.