(no subject)
these walls too have bits of me in them
it's soaked up depression, bitterness, lonliness
they breathe shallow as their paint grows thin
as the boards begin to crack
as even light can stain it now
I come home to a room that feels old and cluttered
you are what you surround yourself with
when i leave the room in the morning the black condensation of the walls breath trails behind my feet
when i come home the room is glad to see me
it keeps me awake at night
whispering memories to me that i would rather have never remembered
a fucking paradox
i have bled into these walls, and the sight of the stains gives me headaches
the room is glad to see me, it knows how i feel
and misery always loves company