After all the noise.

The sounds, the television

The lights.

The things I use to block out my mind.

There is a calm.

Here in this house, my parents house.

For all intense and purposes a museum.

An exhibit to my childhood.

There is a calm.

It sweeps through the living room .

All the children are gone.

They have been replaced by adults.

Adults stuck in the world,

just like their parents.

Stuck in the mess,

the slew of failure,

and the lack of purpose.

Calm, but calm with an itching sensation.

An edge of regret.

I long for my younger self.

Where did he go?

He was quick to hurt, but easily mended.

He had plans, dreams, insecurities and individualism.

He was alive.

But he had to die.

I had to kill him.

That's what they said I wouldn't do but did.

They said I I had a right to Live.

Who knew that life meant dying