The walls of home were never safe to me.
They were hollow
which meant things could hide in them
And they did.
Scribbles
like a child's drawing
crawled in those walls.
They would follow me
and whisper
in the only language they knew
The sound of silence,
of which their strange tongue was spoken,
echoed throughout my bedroom.
Telling me to not cry.
Telling me to not be scared.
Telling me that no matter what
they would forever be by my side
And yet I never felt safe
Forever trapped in my own home.