At least if you don’t ask,I don’t have to lie.I’ve 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.I’m not sure why it feltwhole coming from your mouth.I’m not sure why I feltwhole. We both know I’m 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.
