vayda

Housing with naked windows
the people are all looking, but all passing by.
See the blood on the kitchen counter,
stains from tainted love on bed sheets,
and the ghost of the baby that was never born.
Sitting a slave to the television,
the wine bottle is half empty,
it will never fill again.
Her soul is drunk and easy,
like every time she numbingly opens those legs
and lets anyone in.
"Anyone that wants me cares more than you"
is what was stuck in her abandoned head.
Love never stayed home.
She kept pedestrian people away from her,
locking all the doors, dimming the truth with darkness.
Candles lit the house,
she was poor, in debt to those who once loved her.
In debt to those who once gave her such beautiful light.
The flickering dancers on the walls kept her company,
her eyes scurried all around the room,
spirits took advantage.
A prisoner to a naked home, she was always cold.
For now a blanket would do,
but she won't ever sleep, her dreams never come true.
Color leaves her skin, opiate crimson stains leak the truth.
She's always wanted to be nothing, even if it was a selfish thing to do.