Come Back

Like a prodigal Son....

people come and go, this i surely know

but i’m tired of empty holes in portraits on the wall

where pretty faces used to be

i hide my cigarettes in mum’s bushes

because she doesn’t like to see the ruins

scattered across her drive

like the ashes in my eyes

where there used to be a fire

and i ask myself “wheres home?”

this isn’t the one i’ve known

too many years i’ve been gone

now returned- the prodigal son

i never knew i was the lost one

cause my pictures always hung

by the entrance in the hall

until the day i came home

slammed the door too hard

and it fell from the wall

now the cracks in the glass

cast a reflection that lasts

screaming, “come back- come back”

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