As I walk an all too quiet house
glass under my feet,
I look for the whereabouts,
the place my sanity retreats.
A temple modeled after my greatest intentions
and point of all attention.
I hear the clocks
ticking, a warning - looking, a response.
Reminding my woes
of the sky I'll never know.
This home is made of memories
not concrete nor tile or trees.
Built off of everything I want to be,
how I devote my character to thee.
Silence,
my only tyrant.
My pain and misery,
deliver me
from this toxicity.
Come back, knock at the door
anything to make it louder once more.