stranger's disease

"i wish i believed you when you said that this was my home"



this house is no longer a home

    suddenly my dad had the decency to remind me how I had stripped down my room until no personality had been left in it. I used to hang a life up on the walls, lively encourage movement behind the closed door, maybe even act up daydreams but suddenly it all became quite a blur and I became a recluse to my mind. I remember how this used to feel not so long ago, but I can't grasp it, I can't handle it, I can't... 
                              it's not me anymore, it's not me. this house is no longer something I long. he's right, my room is white as a sheet, like me. it's dying, you see, it's dying slowly. 
                                how can you live when you are constantly terrified? of ghosts, of noises, of strangers. of tv in the middle of the night, of the subtle silences in the empty rooms left behind by those who can't love us anymore. tell me, seriously, where did you take the feelings we used to share a summer ago?
                                                                                                                              I know you feel the same way as me. not even the cat knows what's going on. can we stop pretending this is okay?
                                                   the house is kicking me out. it is. look at it. look at me. it's so cold. so cold...

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