Why doesn't this house
Look like a house
Unless it's wintertime?

Why is it that when I walk through it
I see my own body, in different places, crying like I used to
But only in the wintertime.

The walls don't ever seem
This real
This alive
Like they're out to get me
Unless it's wintertime.

Maybe it's because my AC gets turned off.
And I can no longer drown out the whispers of the past
With the draining moans of cool air.

Maybe it's because,
When I can hear the cars and birds outside,
All I can possibly think of
Is waiting, 6am, for an old friend coming to pick me up

Maybe it's because I no longer feel
Comfortable
As my fingertips turn against me.

No matter how many drawings and paintings I put on that wall.
No amount could change the fact that
The wall is still there
It's still that same wall.

No matter how many times I DESPERATELY rearrange my furniture
The structure
God ****** it's still the same room
It's the same room

Why was this so effortless to ignore for so long, but now it won't cease?
Why is this such a big problem all of the sudden,
Again?
Why can't I just grow up and realize that:
He is not a demon,
His spirit is not out to get me,
I can rest.
I can rest.
I CAN rest.

It isn't even Winter yet.
How will I survive another Winter?
I must brace myself.
I will face this demon headstrong.
He will not write my emotions out for me any longer.
He will order ME how to feel NO MORE.

I am my own soul.
But I must brace myself.