Your skin is the walls and
Your voice builds halls
That never end.

You remember the days when there were ways
Around. People around.
You remember the things, those important things,
All piled on top of each other.

You can’t smell the garden you planted.
You can’t read the book you’re writing.
You can’t hear your laughter, after.

The dust fell like a blanket
And you were too scared to move.
One crack, and you’ll never go
Back. Never leave as you watch the
Leaves dancing.
As you watch them all running.

Your room is the garbage can
Of your life.
But at least it’s not empty.