Front door slams.
Shouts, hollers, slamming of bedroom doors and the thump of angry footsteps.
why didn't yous and I don't want tos spit themselves out angrily at each other.
"Why do I even come home," becomes a line casually thrown about like it doesn't hurt.
The angry slamming of remote controls against coffee tables, the sharp flipping of tv channels and the sound of faucets being turned on, running water and the pretense of washing the day off oneself.
Sometimes,
Just sometimes,
There are bigger problems than yourselves.
oh all the things that I'll keep away from
No comments:
Post a Comment