Why do these walls torment me, their screams vicious and never-ending,
So shrill in my ears, consuming my vision until my eyes become blurry?
What unnerving secrets do they hold that demand my attention?
They’re filled to the brim, stuffed with memory after memory.

They’ve seen every part of my life, from my first steps to my latest breakdown.
Even more, they’ve seen my family grow together and fall apart piece by piece.
Each room my uncle’s hands built a generation ago.
Did he know the house would come alive and speak to me? That this sanctuary would haunt me until I’m delirious?

Maybe my aunt thought they’d be kinder, coaxing me into safety with their lethal protection.
Did she envision this empty space filled with photos of our family living glossy lives?
Yet these barren walls reinforce the loneliness that blankets my filial woes.
Dark shadows ensnare me around every corner, creating a prison with their shackles.

These barriers offer no escape, even as I try to outrun, tear down, and break through them.
That unbreakable family bond, butchered long ago, curses what remains here.
They saw holidays bustling with noise and joy freeze into stuffy, stiff conversations.
They watched as everyone slowly moved away, breaking free, except for me.

I am still confined, forced to live in a house with nothing but memories of what was and no longer is,
reminding me of who I’ve become
and what will never be again.

Editor: Shannon Hensley