i'm getting booted from my home. wrong. grim, graham, grum. wrong
this is not your house
therefore to be booted from your house
you must be in your domicile
it's only been a week.
keeping this bed warm for six hours of the days
but grim isn't welcome in this nest.
like some annoying fly landing on the tv screen.
but now i must go.
and it couldn't happen soon enough.
pick up the bag, place a shirt in.
too slow, better place in three.
and when the wrinkles start to show,
it adds to the package.
discontent should go hand in hand with discomfort.
discomfort should go hand in hand with dismay.
dismay should go hand in hand with wrinkly shirts and shit.
pack up the bags faster grim,
because you have intruded
in a nest of a lion.
matriarch. patriarch by her side.
and if you don't pack up those bags, and disappear
you'll be eaten,
unlike the rest of the people in your position.
but i guess our parents homes all represent different caves
with different beasts.
this beast in this cage here,
it should be left alone
fur unruffled.
survival of the fittest
and when there isn't a fucking tent,
and you think the cave you recognize your smell in
is safe,
it's fucking not.
as quickly as inhabitants go, new ones come.
the fear here is that maybe grim isn't
a fast moving inhabitant that meander in and out.
that is the fear.
but grim comes,
graham lives,
and when i am gone,
grum will be no more.
i am anticipate that no more.
maybe that my life
after death
will be much more acceptable.
until then, get the hell out of this nest,
may you have the resources or not to do so,
just do it.
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