Skeleton Garden

You tell me misery loves company.
But then why does my heart beg for solitude every time
you pick apart my empty bones?

I used to know what you were searching for.
It was buried in the garden of roses inside my skull.
But now there's but a black-hole where it once lie.

Determined though, you chisel away at me.
Yet to have a moment where you like what's uncovered.
And I'm sorry my soul isn't a place of comfort.

Yours doesn't quite feel like home itself.