A safe haven is a place of comfort. A home. A place where love resides. A house is four walls; its brick and concrete. It is cement and it is drywall. It isn’t love, it isn’t trust. With the people that live there, it can still remain empty. I think I’d take the screaming and the yelling and the pain, then the emptiness. The walls, they don’t create a home. A fake smile loosely ties what we have left together. A hallow laugh rings longer, louder. This place is where screaming is silent, and only too real inside our minds. It’s a one man insanity show, yet somehow we all share it. A heart beat is a ticking clock, for when the next outburst will occur. This is where everything I knew of love fell to pieces, because of a substance. It can drown a family. It can tear them apart by tidal wives, sweeping depression and crashing anxiety. Fighting to the surface to escape embracing anger and hatred all too tightly, until you can’t breathe. Until it’s too much. To have it rip apart my home, my whole world, is something more than God intended for me to take.