i stay in the past
out of hatred for the present
and fear of the future
inside my mother's cocoon
as my father works day to day
tirelessly, puffing smoke out of chapped lips
and the cigarette boxes pile the hallways
i live in a dream inside my head
where i paint my walls a different shade each day
and flowers bloom between the cold metal frame of my bed
the cracks in the ceiling
and the dusty gaps in my window
as if i had not heard my sister cry in the night
or nights
and my brother slams the door from outside
yes,
i'd rather stay in the past.