House broke

I used to enjoy this place.

Now the walls just stand

whatever I forgot to deal with.

It ain’t haunted.

It’s stained.

With stale ciggerette smoke.

I don’t decorate.

Just cover things up.

Painting over holes,

I missed patching up.

With urgent mail

I dont read.

I swept the floor last month,

but the air still feels dirty.

Like memories haunt the attic,

and no sage is strong enough

to make it leave.

I’m house broke.

Not homeless.

Got a roof.

With paper maché walls.

no comfort.

Just corners

That Im standing

In line for.

The dishes aren’t piling up

‘cuz I’m lazy —

I just can’t look at my reflection in

The sink water.

I might drown.

Every room’s got its own argument

But I forgot to read into it.

I run through them

like I’m ducking under tape

at a crime scene.

I've been told

“make your space sacred.”

But what do you do

when the altar’s made of

your own bullshit?

I’ve prayed in the shower.

Screamed into the fridge.

Apologized to the rug,

For mistakes swept under

It.

I’m house broke.

Still living here,

but it don’t stay warm

like it used to.

Feels like I’m squatting

in my own skin.

Lights still work.

Lock still turns.

But I moved out

a while ago.

Even the dust

Dont linger.

I’m house broke.

Not homeless.

Got a roof.

With paper maché walls.

no comfort.

Just corners

That Im standing

In line for.