You've seen this face before
The one with tears running down cheeks red with cold.
'It must have been the biting wind,' you think.
But it eats at you, this lie.
Drums beat behind your eyes, telling, pounding out the truth.
You know that when you get home, there won't be anyone there.
Rooms, full of everything you don't need
(Hunger, want, despair)
And one room housing that one thing that you really shouldn't have in the first place.
The door is locked, but every time you come home, you sneak inside
And look in the mirror
At that face you've seen before.