These Walls: Is This House A Home? A Question Still Unanswered.
I’ve asked this question before… -and here I am, asking it again.
Is this house a home?...
if no step in this building is a step inside my comfort zone?...
What these walls have seen,
they wouldn't dare write about.
They hear the same screams as do I‐
how the voices that echo in these walls don't play fair,
their shouts that surround me, steal the air straight from my lungs‐
and the shadow hung from the ceiling,
looks far, far too familiar
to the shape in the mirror.
Everyday is a nightmare,
and every minute under the moonlight is all alone.
What goes on behind doors closed‐
on the inside, of this labyrinth of corners and corridors...
every eye I come across is blinding, so I keep mine closed,
in darkness, I navigate this maze,
back to the to room I always return‐
what I hear out in the halls, is not a sight on which I want to gaze.
I'd rather share the bliss of the outsiders,
I envy their ignorance.
Uncountable, are the tears that have dried on this floor I sit‐
where time itself has become it's own form of torment,
tearing apart all the tiers of hope and tossing them at my feet.
Time exist as a villain, well feared within these walls,
hosting torturous nights, spent in such an evil loneliness.
I can't keep my head above the water under a roof that always leaks‐
and I can't quite speak of love,
since it so long ago chose to leave.
If this house was a home‐
Would void's company be this strong?
Would the screams from down under be so loud?
Is how I recognize footsteps not a trauma-born skill?
They seem to be a lot louder outside my door,
I can hear them, getting closer,
I can see them, right through these walls.
I can't say this house is a home‐
because even when surrounded, I'm alone‐
and even in quiet, there is chaos.
Once lost in these walls,
now I have every inch of this space is memorized‐
a quite uncomfortable familiarity.
Compulsory, for the sake of my survival
and a capacity for competence, because no need was ever known.
I can't quite say that this house is a home‐
I might just have to leave that question unanswered,
for now...
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Check out the first part of this “Question” here…
About the Creator
Josh Morgan
Personally, writing began as a creative outlet, to be a means of processing and venting emotion, but it has become so much more. Something I want not to be just relatable, enjoyable and a good read, but to reach someone who is in need.

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