Legacy: Powdered Milk

There’s always powdered milk on the table when I go home,

Soup crackers and rye bread for porridge.

It isn’t my home–

There’s always an empty room for visitors to sleep,

To stay.

But there’s never much room for me.

I packed my things last night to runaway,

I locked the door and threw my key threw the window,

I left no note or explanation, then took a bus to the lake.

Before realizing I have nowhere to go,

No visitor’s room to sleep in,

or stay.

Just a bunch of empty cities to live in for a short while.

I spent the night trying to unlock the door,

And I went to sleep homesick.

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