My Home

I don't wanna go home. Its kind of lost its meaning. Meaning I'm there without feeling. I wish I could call it something else. A different name to match its essence, A person who could replace its presence. In a sense. It's barely a house anymore, Merely shelter from the weather. Anything would be better. A man who lives off of his liver, And a woman who avoids it all night, Out of mind, Out of sight. You feel me? I'm forced to be my own home, Even when I'm in one, I'm alone. Forced to watch me kill myself with cigarettes. If this house doesn't collapse As I wait while his bottle uncaps, Maybe the cigarettes will just kill me instead.