The Armoire
that you found by the dumpster
while visiting your sister
it looks fine
in the living room where
the others you've rescued
go to die.
That old mirror by the bed
without much of anything to reflect
save for a few holes
a crippled bedpost
shadows that don't move.
Cobwebs in the corner
dead spider on the wall.
Well I'm home, but I'm not home.
Boxes in the basement
that were spared from rising wagers
discarded blood stained drum skins and sticks rest on your mother's mattress.
Well I'm home, and somehow while I was gone, this house i'd left for dead had lingered on.
Well I'm home with my own family in tow, and everything's the same, but different.
Well I'm home again, the devil knows I'm born again.
But I can't hold these walls up on my own.