Listening

She said, there’s never any noise,

unless I make it myself

it’s cold, it’s empty, it’s

sad

She said I’m sick I’m sick I’m

sick to death

of turning around

inside

And she said, there’s a picture of a hill on my wall

and it looks a bit

like home, that’s all

it’s just that

sometimes I feel

like I’m my only friend

And I said sorry what?

Say that again?