By Abby Karstrand

That deep, dirty smell

Seeps into your denim

And you can’t get it out

With industrial strength detergent

One day you’ll die

And your shit will be mine

Maybe that’s why I don’t like new things

I need old

Loved and abused

Threadbare cushions

My grandma’s old plaid couch

Feels so innocent

Now on the side of the road

Make room for ikea and kohl’s

Maybe that’s one of the emptiest feelings

I love you

And I want you to say it back

But coming home feels like a suck

A windowless room left musty

Ceiling panels dropped to the ground

Mothballs and mouse shit

I’ll learn to move on

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