this house

i toss my cigarette onto the car port,
and with i throw away my desire to change;
here i sit again,
the same as i do everyday;
with nothing in my hands but false hopes,
and empty promises;
i watch the bustling of life from the torn and broken swing,
that sits in front of the house of my youth;
this house and i remain standing in the same place as when we first met,
of course we're both older and falling to pieces around anyone who lives inside of us;
although damaged it has remained to be a shelter for many lost souls along the way,
but it was never able to save mine;
the black hole it has created swallows me,
again and again;
i keep telling my self to stand up,
take your first step;
remodel the shell of life,
chsnge the exterior and the interior.