Empty prescriptions lie scattered on the dirty wood floor,
Lids and bottles separated with only cotton left inside.
The bath water still running, now flowing over onto the ratty rug.
Last nights uneaten dinner remains on the stove,
Plates piled in the sink, mold on every crumb.
The TV is still on, after the late show ended.
And every light is on so anyone can see the mess.
The beds are bare, the chairs empty.
Someone comes in and cleans up my mess,
And maybe later someone will come live here again
The way I never could.
Someone would find me, an empty shell in the corner,
With a bloody peace.
And they might find it a shame, so young,
So beautiful.