Home Is Where the Silence Screams

The walls don't echo back my name,

They just breathe-slow, heavy, the same.

I lock the door but leave it wide,

Hoping no one walks inside.

Dust collects like shame on skin,

A quiet rot that blooms within.

The lamp is on but never bright,

Shadows louder than the light.

This room's a tomb I built with care,

Stuffed with ghosts in second-hand chairs.

Their whispers match the ones I know,

The ones that never let me go.

Solitude feels like justice served,

A rusted crown I know I've earned.

It fits too well, this empty bed-

Like I was born to sleep half-dead.

Sometimes I swear the silence speaks,

In pulses, groans, and window creaks.

It says, "You asked for this, you see-

You traded her for apathy."

And I sit still, just like before,

Not brave enough to want for more.

Because when you're used to pain so long,

You start to hum it like a song.