I don't know where it started,
I don't even know if I'm just dramatic,
But one day, I realized-
That this is not a happy place.
I have too much to say,
Yet the place I call home-
Now feels like a dungeon.
I can scream,
I can make an echo,
But the walls are too thick,
I can not get an answer.
It used to be just fine,
We're not rich,
But I must say-
We are sheltered.
For a long time I was so thankful-
I got everything I need,
Had a comfortable bed to sleep,
Had money to buy my cravings.
But then I grew,
One day I just saw that-
The "once" perfect wall
Have too many cracks,
One wrong move-
We're all gonna break.
It's hard to hide secrets-
Secrets I discovered for being so curious,
Secrets that will eventually destroy
Our pretty little home.
Now answer me,
Is it my fault, I want to leave?
Is it my fault, I want to escape?
Is my fault that I want to be happy?
Answer me,
How can I stay,
If no one wants to say,
"Welcome home?"
How can I stay,
If I feel like this is not a home
But merely a house,
A place where we
Sleep,
Eat,
And hide-
Our secrets and dark sides.
YOU ARE READING
Always on the 13th Hour
PoëzieThis is a collection of prose and poetry, and a bunch of thoughts that keeps me awake every night. This is all about what goes on every 13th hour... if that hour even exists.
