all i can hear is the dripping faucet:
lack, lack, lack, lack.

the walls seem thinner than before, tonight.
the stairs creak louder, the neighbors yell louder,
the night seems deeper than before, tonight.

the soul is a house,
you build a frame,
you are granted these gifts:
you build a soul from love,
from loss and pain and love.

you preach your own brand of selfhood,
i am content upon my own?
ignorance is a choice, an obvious one
and all i can hear is the faucet:
loss, loss, loss, loss.