Every few weeks I sleep on the sofa at my Mother’s house in Casper bedsheets
Because I’m keeping ghosts for company
I awake when everyone’s left and pace the floor space of my old bedroom just wondering
How’d I get any rest with the wind whistling through the air vent
I’ve took to wearing my Father’s old clothes, I look like I’m drowning in these old t-shirts but they keep the cold away from my bones
I guess it’s the only way I still feel close
I guess I’m trying man I still don’t know
If you loved me why did you let me go?
Do old rooms just become walk in wardrobes when we’re gone?
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