My whole house is a petri dish
Of things I’ve done before
Things I did
Things I tried
Hearts broken, an left by the door

Stacked to the ceiling
Full to the brim
Like a fine cup of coffee
Or sardines in a tin

Dishes piled high
Books bred in the night
I’m through with it all
Want it out of my sight

Doesn’t hurt anymore
getting rid of the chains
those moments were lived in
the stuffs all been drained

Soon no one will know
By the cut of my jib
That inside a petri
dish I once lived.