I've come to the conclusion that my mind is a house, never a home. A two bedroom for a family of five, hallways always empty despite the parties my thoughts throw every night. I'm never the host, an uninvited guest thrust into the chaos that I'm expected to live inside. When I can't stand in the midst of these 'guests,' the swirl of them making me dizzy, I'll run through the hallways with loneliness as my company. He likes to play only one game; Hide-and-seek. And I always shut myself in the closet with the skeletons that threaten my future with my past. I begin to believe this head is a haunted house, these thoughts are just ghosts and I'm trying to find the one with the key that keeps me trapped, locked from the outside in.
