"i think i might be, y'know, depressed."

Every single morning
I wake up, get dressed, start my car,
And drive.

Every single morning
I pass the place where the house used to sit.
I remember when I was five years old;
when I still believed in fairy tales and princesses,
when I watched that house being consumed with flames.
I drive by and memories flash.
My mother gasping
The people crying
The dog barking.
A red house turned to ash and cemet before the trucks even arrived.
Every single morning I see the flames.

"No trespassing" says the sign.
No one has touched the place in 12 years.

This morning.
I saw the workmen.
Measuring and collecting data.
Unaware of the red house before.
Talking and pointing they make their plans.

Childhood memories suddenly covered
by wooden beams and work trucks.

my lungs hurt
from screaming