The walls are small and the voices are loud,
the hearts are empty but the people are proud,
all in this tiny house.

I cant see clearly past the fog from the kitchen,
the *** screams but nobody listens.
I watch as the fire sizzles and burns,
i wonder what’s become of this tiny house.

The wallpapers peeling,
i hear the voices squealing,
fire and flames begin to engulf this tiny house.

I wish i found a reason to run, a place to call my own where i could sit by the sun.
I wish i could but i know i can’t, instead i walk to the ***.

as the flames tickle my bones i come to accept my role in this tiny house.

I cracked the vase,
I burned the curtains,
all of this from one destructive person.
I ruined the day,
it'd been dismantled by evening,
whispers ran ramped with wishes of me leaving.

if I stay silent,
clean my mess in the kitchen,
I wonder than if they would listen.
maybe it wouldn't be enough to see,
they already know the damage is inside me.
I could scrub the floors and buy new curtains,
it still wouldn't change this destructive person.

it was me they hated,
me who couldn't be fixed,
me who caused all the problems leading to this.
who to thank but myself for causing this mess,
maybe that's what made them like me less.

maybe it was more than the curtains,
maybe they couldn't love a destructive person.