My home ran way
Now I sit were glass meets the frame at the window and wait.
How long has it been
Years?
Weeks?
I'm not sure I care.. I'm not sure I don't

The mountabank came round again
Selling me a fictitious love.
His love.
You see, sense he travels so much selling the good oils
of
Rosemary tilled out of our toilet, Powders that
I personally
made from the stalagmites that grow in the southwest corner of my dwelling,
and
Teeth whitener
scraped from off only the finest ingredients
of
Feets calus, the kind aquired after walking long enough to no longer need shoes.

No he had no time for me and besides, he wasn't my home.

I'd have my fun but... He could never hold my love.

Yesterday I passed away
The cold nothing
Became a greater threat this time
I didn't have my home
Nor my love
I wasn't ready to go.
In a dank cave somewhere in the Philippines
After the hair on my head grew from fire red
To silver white.
Still sitting where the glass meets the frame.