Plaid apron on, don't stop to think.
I cooked all Thanksgiving just for them
dishes are now piled in the sink,
staring a bit too long at the carving knife.
With the countertops glistening with spillage
I'm wondering what I want from life
some sort of contentment, I cannot envisage.
My dad hates his job
my mother loathes her body
and I've learned everything I know from them
every loan and distracting hobby.
Imitation is the finest form of flattery,
I compulsively copy.

Candles flickering,
smells like pumpkin and clove
my sisters arguing in the living room
a *** over boiling on the stove,
it's scalding water seeps right into my mind.
I have no place here,
I hear the ticking time.
Turkey was fattened up all year
and now our dogs crunch on the bones
wonder what they are wishing for
are some things better left unknown?
Brown leaves are falling, with a final breath
they say it will be a hard winter
I'm not sure what is left.