The scent of tears potpourri your sheets,
Sights of sorrowful disorder abound,
My eyes fear to meet yours,
I am left with feet and ground,
Clammy cold finger tips touch my arm,
There is no one else here,
Looking up signals a change,
For everything inside I fear,
From the corner of my sight,
Streetlight attendants of my conviction,
Drawing me away from this drudgery,
First steps mending my affliction,
Indian summer days and nights,
As out of place as I feel inside this house,
Baited and trapped with a little cheese,
Captured, I the unknowing mouse,
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