The Home

Cracked walls can be the broken heart
Stained rugs can be the scars
Missing knobs and missing everything from nights with memories I've misplaced
Lightbulbs flicker and I think they've come to get me again
It reeks of blue which is drowned out by the black in my eyes
Pictures everywhere with a meaning to everyone but myself
Ashes scattered around the ash tray
Disorganization
Four mirrors but I still can't see myself
Or at least the way everyone else see's me
Ten lights but the shadows won't leave
Everything you see is a decoration
Welcome to my home