At least if you dont ask,I dont have to lie.Ive spent most of the pastfew months asleep on the bathroom floor;sick of keeping everything in,too tired to let it out.Home is such an empty word.Im not sure why it feltwhole coming from your mouth.Im not sure why I feltwhole. We both know Im just an ideato carve into sheetrockwith swollen fists;leaving worn out holes thatyour heart never fit.I try not to wake up,but my body is used to(everyone leaving)routines.

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Themes

  • Poetry — The art of language, rhythm, and emotional expression

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