Home
written: May 2002
Broken glass scattered on the floor
walk over it and leave bloody footprints
and she screams because you're getting it all over the carpet
and it's all your fault because you didn't clean up the mess
just like she said
This mattress bare
try to lie still
but the springs poke and tear the skin
no rest tonight
just like before when all those faulty dreams
of impossible happiness
wouldn't let you sleep
too excited for the things you wish to happen tomorrow
but never will
In this empty space
someday you'll call it your own
but this place will never be home
with broken glass
and a ripped, barren mattress
blood on the carpet
blood on the sheets
memories of blood everywhere you see
how could you ever call this home?
