Televison dials completely out of style, and no one is sure if they work.
Frayed wires hanging above remains of hopeful mice who took a roll of the dice and tried to nest on top of that box that once projectected murmurs of wars.
Books stacked on books water stains mixing with the artwork dye.
Atop the loft of literature there for looks, sits Catcher In the Rye.
A story built the same year as this house.
A clasic build with a vintage tone, but no proof that this house was ever a home.
Books stacked on books in a cart table that once hosted Monday night rook, a cold neighbor of piles of dust, evidence of rust, a pinackle for broken trust.
Books stacked on books by five frozen beings seated at the kitchen nook.
Newspapers block the faces of what are asumed to be parents but its a parent there's no connection just existence in the corrolation between DNA and similar genetics.
Fammiliar faces to each other but no souls connected, no wires intertwine just covered by the same physical canopy.
Genetics may define similarities, but don't always define a family.
With books stacked on books, disrepairing, lack of emotional continuity.
The sterotypical story of drones in a thriving society.
Missing out on the proclomation that they need to team up because deeper recession is always coming.
Books stacked on books, sharing stories of families like these, not voicing in the fact that we aren't struggling, or are we?
With boys from war ariving home, missionaries being killed without access to the phone.
Heartlets selling their innocence to put meat on thier bones.
A fallen union now a broken home, the similarities to the brokeness overseas in this cold family is the fact that just those broken hearts, our houses are empty and the lack of love does not discriminate against the rich or the wealthy.
Brokeness affects all those who lack the love of a family.
And maybe mom and dad decided to leave you alone but you have family that want you to sit on the right side of a beautiful throne 'cause you don't deserve to live empty.
