Dusty in the corner of this white abrasive room,
Where every hour alive counts as success.

Bread for the suffering,
Vodka on the table to make amends,
Pasta in the pot, and chicken for the soul.
I've got my meals all lined up, and a purpose they hold.

A cigarette lit up,
Though I know it will kill me,
Probably slower than I'd like.
But what has kept me alive has mislead me greatly.

Lost my suitcases when I was 8,
Left behind a red silhouette.
Fed my adolescence to misery,
Company we were great.
Wore my cross with its wonderful sins,
Too much weight for crimes I didn't commit.

Coffee is cold, by the sink it gathers.
Spiders crawl around the cracks,
Chipped paint splatters -
Ceiling malfunctions.
Everything can fall apart, and it might have already.

I play no one's fool, but I am
Everyone's favorite experiment.
What time, and place,
The victim, for now, without a face.

In this abrasive room, where
Human interaction would be nice -
I’ve got my ghost stories,
And sounds from television characters sing
Lullabies to mask the commotion
Alive in the mind.

I hope I starve
All my monsters tonight.

Home sweet home.