this [sterile excuse for a "first world" existance] is not home
it's just where i keep my stuff
it used to be home
until there was you
now home is a pink bedroom, a kerosene cooker, a coffee ceremony kit i cannot confidently operate and a squeaky front door.
home is intermittent power, eternally cold showers and playing guitar refrains until theyre burnt into the darkness of the candle lit nights
home is wherever i'm with you