i am the left behind

i am a hotel room, a refuge to many but a true home to none

i am the rack of coats, all of the pockets turned out

i am unmade sheets

i am old curtains, worn from looking outside

i am the bible in the drawer, my significance long forgotten

i am the light that doesn't work as well as it should

i am the television set missing the remote

i am the complimentary notepad with no notes

i am mass-produced framed artwork, lackluster and faded

i am the armchair with questionable stains

i am the heavy darkness at night, the feeling someone is watching

i am repetitive carpet designs and tasteless coffee

i am the morning, an almost-hot shower

i am an empty hotel room, a refuge to many,

but a true home to none.