Under the Judgmental Sun

My blood is glue

Boiling under roof tile skin,

Under the judgmental sun

Waiting for rain to come.

My house is the aftermath

Of heaven falling straight to hell,

The adhesive peels,

Revealing the mold that we breathe.

I am in need

Of renovations that will

Stake me down, down

And ready to settle.

No more plans, no more revisions,

Just one final teardown

And a newly found

Foundation

That will keep me grounded

And satiated.