There Is No Home

Morning sun beats down on my face
To tell me I made it one more day
I wake up to no one
But, I still hear the sound of your voice:
“You have 12 freckles on your face”
And it all doesn’t matter anymore
The days will be scratched off
The calendar pages will flips
Bills will be paid
I’ll kill myself just to make ends meet
I’ll bring no one home
I’ll deteriorate alone
I won’t buy a new bed
I’ll lie on the floor
Until someone picks me up again

Reviews

[PaintedBirdy]

i like all of your poems. i'm just commenting on this one haphazardly. i like your combination of abstract and specific. gorgeous. i'll keep reading...