I get home and it feels like
nothing but boxed air
the clock reminds me
once a second
what time is supposed to be
I get home and it feels like
everything except out there
books press against each other
reminding me of the
relationship of informations
I get home and it feels as though
it's insignificant where i live
my mattress bluntly reminds me
of the stubbornness of gravity
I get home and it feels like
I've never been here before
the coriander on my window sill
reminds me of what the
real green is supposed to mean
I get home and it feels like
I've been here all my life
I take off my boots and the rich smell
of my feet
reminds me of where I've been
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