Nostalgia

old creaky doors, dust on my nose

tipping on my toes, ample thorns around this rose

candid photos, this is what i chose

what a complex unfold, like reading paper that’s torn

now worn out paint, in colours i hate

rooms seem so big, when filled with nothing 

back strained from all the weight, yet my mind so sedate

got zero shipmates, i’m going to sick bay

i hate to admit it, but I’ll miss all this

bet they didn’t mean it when they said “ignorance is bliss”

hit by this burst of nostalgia 

half-hearted utopia

my chaotic mania 

no place says “domicile”