I wrote this last year but he’s back now so I guess this poem was wasted

Sometimes I sleep in your room because it reminds me of an empty birdcage with the way you were able to escape from the crack in the window

You say you're doing alright, that you're better than fine but I can hear your midnight cries all the way from here and your room is so empty now even though your guitars are still hanging on the walls but it doesn't fill the room it makes it more lonely cause all the strings are broken and they're starting to get dusty because you were the only one who knew how to play

Sometimes I sleep in your bedroom and actually it's not really yours anymore but we all know it's forever going to be, someone said it was a guest room and it felt so wrong, that word is too hollow to fill a room with memories.