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.