They sit it a box
Under the bed,
Waiting to be opened,
Waiting to be fed.
And to their dismay,
Well, I hope they understand
I can never see them
Or hold them in my hand.
Oh, I left them there on purpose
With a hope but to disguise
The real pull within me
The truth to realize.
I wish I could explain
Just tell them oh but once
I shoved them there in earnest
And it must stay as such.
They cannot hope to comprehend,
Those broken memories,
That everything they now hold
Was once you and me.
                                           tsk

I live in a shoebox all alone
It's the size of a nutshell I call it home
Here just me and my white walls talk
if they get too close I take a walk

A bed, a table, a chair, a sink
makes me happier than you would think
I took a chance on a crooked floor and  an un-open-able door
how could I ever ask for more.
  
So here I sit and write and to whoever that might read it
I hope you have a place just as magical as mine
and that you never want to leave it.