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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 From Letras Mania