All the trappings of a true reality
All the makings of a life renowned
So many trinkets of a heart's fatality
So few things to say I'll ever be found
A bedroom without a bed to lay upon
Curtains of gloom hanging darkly up above
A dresser full of clothes only I will don
Nothing in this sparse room to speak of love
A livingroom without a single stirring creature
A broken TV cutting lines across these faces
An outdated couch, the only real feature
It speaks highly of so many past disgraces
A kitchen of empty cupboards and shelves
Starving peering eyes of any remote joy
Appliances denying their owner of themselves
A sink with only a drain, simply a ploy
A bathroom hosting a shower without curtains
A mat upon the floor soaked with tinted water
One of many items just to bare all the sins
Committed for the benefit of a one-sided barter
Walls loosely held together by blood-rusted nails
Windows fogged and cracked, making an eerie sound
A roof barely holding against the daily gails
A hous burning itself down, just to feel the level ground
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