Hovel (an acrostic poem)

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Home is home, but sometimes you just live in a place

Outside is allowed to get ragged, inside things are just left where they are

Vistas of unkept memories and mementos cast aside without a care

Eclipsing all hopes of doing something about it, to make it a livable space

Leaving you to wonder if it is just a condemned dwelling, or a wasted life

Top (an acrostic poem)

The room spun as he tried to stand up

Of all the nights, tonight was the night he had to drink the good stuff

Perhaps he should have allowed himself to bottom out instead

 

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