Home. - September Stories

These walls have worn straight through

This house is cold without you

These halls have changed colors

They’re not quite the same as when I was younger

The drawers turned out, the contents on the floor

Cabinets still half-stocked, but the hinges broke on the door

The rooms neglected with boxes laid askew

Posters covering the walls, showing peeling dried glue

I’ve chipped the paint off of every inch of the wall

To see if I could recognize it at all

Or even be able to tell what’s aged it horribly

But I think when we cleaned out the rooms

And abandoned the halls

We stripped the life from these walls

It depleted everything that let us call this house our own

This place is similar to what I had once known

But I don’t know if I could ever call it home

These walls have worn straight through

(Worn straight through)

This house is cold without you

I’ve referred to this house as a home for the last time

While it holds memories of my youth

There’s still something here that still feels empty

It’s like the life was withdrawn from the walls when you left

When this family changed to only two

Like when the paint was removed

But we still found nothing underneath new

But I’ve learned that what we call home isn’t where we’re born

Or any situation that we’re thrown into

But it’s where we’re able to cope with these memories

We’ve long outgrew

These walls have worn straight through

(Worn straight through)

This house is cold without you

I haven’t slept in days

(Haven't slept in days)

I never slept there anyways