Family

A skull that’s crushed
beneath the boot of a working man.
I watched
from afar where I hadn’t woken yet.
A sour sweat that’s set
around my hair and in my heart.
Today. A chance to follow
and see what sets us apart.
You take me home in your car.
You drive while I look at the stars
from here in your backseat,
where I don’t dare to make
a sound for fear that you would hear
and leave me alone in the dark.
Tonight it hurts.
I’m hiding, sobbing underneath you stairs.
Muffled
by these cold, thin, six-figure-income walls.
Your kids look so happy to be
alive by a fire and a tree.
And I’m part of your family
whether you know it or not.
I’m glad to live my life
out through a hole in your wall.