I am the heart of my house now, i've become the very soul of this dark place.

The water of the dripping faucet is my tears and the lifeless broken mirror is my face.

I am the walls, plain, worn, and bare.

I am the rocking chair that rocks as if there is someone still sitting there.

I am the cold that tears away the hope of any life.

Why do I write? Because I'm alone.

Why do I write? Because I'm scared.

Why do I write? Because I pray that there is someone listening out there.

As I read aloud my hopes and dreams.

I wanna be more than the house that I reside.

I wanna be more than the inanimate objects inside.

This is why I write.