Hannah, Come Home to Our House

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Today we wake up crying,
Our cotton pillows ooze as we turn around,
And if we keep on trying,
Our lacerated spines can be found.

Today we eat our breakfast yelling,
Our sliced bread toasts from the screeching sound,
And our flimsy arguments aren't compelling,
But better than our unwrapped beds, where we will surely drown.

Today we wander through shelved isles,
What we find replaces crumbs inside our empty kitchen drawers,
We giggle at marked cans and bottles,
We are not hungry, we eat to fill hallowed cores.

Today we eat our dinner with tranquility,
The awkward silence makes our food taste sour and tart,
A thought runs through our minds with flexibility,
We begin to eavesdrop on one another's heart.

Tonight, we linger down crisp, paved streets,
And then link cold hands beneath the flickering lamp,
Across the table we promised that we would never sleep,
So we cower from our unwrapped beds, our cotton pillows still lay damp.





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