I hate my house the most,
I say my house, for I don’t have a home,
They’re not synonymous and not worth explaining,
The house is cold, dark and dead,
The lights are all on, the heat is on full blast,
And everything inside is in fact alive,
Three cats, four people, all keeping to themselves,
Oh how I wish that they would come talk to me,
I’ll take a cat, a person, or even an insect,
But none come to visit, I sit and I wait,
Wait for the time that I leave this house,
Wait for the time that I feel warm,
I guess it isn’t really the house,
It can’t be, It has to be me.
So I wait for the time, for nothing specifically,
Just for time to pass, time to be wasted.