why always in this place?
where "goodnights" have ceased to exist
by the mere assumption that we are too old,
or that muttering it would mean
we meant it,
and that would be to real
in these walls.
walls that hold an unspoken
agreement to never be in depth,
never to hold a real
conversation in it's midst.
a place where there are walls,
that have turned into
kingdoms of secrecy.
all consumed by a lie,
a narcotic idea that this place
is just for surviving.
that is place is a house,
not a home.