the bits and pieces strewn about
the bleached receipts
my parent's house
stub my toe on a cabinet
they thrifted from town
the mess of things we've 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 parent's house
down the drain I see more hair's been falling out
there's more thinning now
is that my brother's 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 father's pride or my father's 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 I'm just like you
I'm born and stretch into
the hand-me-down portraits
relatives I've never met
do you still talk in your sleep
when you think no one's listening
I still like to think that there's parts of me I casted myself
do you still talk in your sleep
when you think no one's listening
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