Hanging on a Billfold

I tried to make this home a house. Building the best that I can be. But sure enough, the tragedy trend displays the day with an overly emotional decay. Slowly dwindling into the hole from where it came. Back to darkness. Back to nothing. Could this be the note I've dreaded for so long? Could this be the plea for one more chance? One more day? Assurance came and went. I'm lingering. Hanging on a billfold. There's nothing left, except maybe a few short days. Does it really mean anything at all? I ponder poetically as if to ease the pain. This exterior has tried for so long to hold back the many reasons to give it all away. It's cracking. I'm cracking. Dried out. Withering without a name.