How fitting, a wasteland.
Laid at my curling toes and
before my wrinkling nose.
Such a stench,
what a sight,
decaying buildings and human's flight
from here.
Withered remains of someone's couch, someone's life,
someone's heart, someone's strife.
All laid before my homeless-feet,
the rock set underneath
punching into my calloused toes.
but wind still blows,
and water still flows,
so i called it home and built
a house of glass,
and covered the land in grass.