every night i get a visit from a loud knock on my bedroom door,
and a screeching voice that echoes through the walls,
with shadows and tracks of wreckage.

i have gotten used to fighting my own demons
but i grew tired after a long while,
my bones were fractured, my spirit, exhausted.

there used to be lullabies playing in the halls
of this place i called home, until i started feeling a knot in my stomach
each time i utter the word. home.

i have erased the memories written on the bricks,
and the sounds the floorboards make,
but they still reek of the ghosts i’ve been trying to escape.