It Aint

It Aint

A Poem by Thomas Emile Vaughen

It ain't prime real estate baby but it's yours. The windows shattered, curtains tattered. The roof is leaky, the bed is creaky. Drugged up neighbours next door, noise pollution galore. A rotten fence, a pungent stench. It's my heart, abandoned by the lovers that came before, just hoping you'll walk through the door and claim it.

© 2020 Thomas Emile Vaughen


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Added on January 5, 2020
Last Updated on January 5, 2020

Author

Thomas Emile Vaughen
Thomas Emile Vaughen

Floating around the north of England, United Kingdom



About
Sometimes I make myself a coffee, pop on the internet and write stuff. Read at your *peril*. Can be found on Substack [https://thomasemilevaughen.substack.com] or Bluesky [‪@cperil.bsky.soci.. more..