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the bits and pieces strewn about
the bleached receipts
my parentâs house
stub my toe on a cabinet
they thrifted from town
the mess of things weâve left to do
the coffee stains
the local news
your grandfather was partial
to the same type of shoes
the bits and pieces strewn about
flux of seasons
my parentâs house
down the drain I see more hairâs been falling out
thereâs more thinning now
is that my brotherâs blood coursing through my veins
when I try to take apart and piece back everything
or the way I still need to take drugs to fall asleep
is that my fatherâs pride or my fatherâs shame
a heavy enough hook where I can hang my name
or the way I still need to take drugs to step outside
I think Iâm just like you
Iâm born and stretch into
the hand-me-down portraits
relatives Iâve never met
do you still talk in your sleep
when you think no oneâs listening
I still like to think that thereâs parts of me I casted myself
do you still talk in your sleep
when you think no oneâs listening