As I...

As I lay here,

In the pile of piss that is,

Slowly seeping down into the mattress,

As the delerium of last night,

Fades away in ripping burns,

Through my skull,

As I glare at the calcified mound of mystery meat and bread,

That is seemingly my only companion,

And as I sweat tentacles in the ever thickening air,

One thing comes to mind...

This isn't my house.