i don’t know why you’re still here.
another long summer day
in a one story home.
less of a house than a thing
left abandoned at the end
of a cul-de-sac.
more of a body than a vessel
made up of mold and
mildew.
another girl growing into
another girl
who stares at popcorn ceilings
and suffocates herself in
well-worn carpets.
as if this
is a normal way to live.
another bad dog
in a rotten kennel,
biting the hand that feeds it.
that will always be you,
won’t it?
taking it while lying down,
against better instinct.
so tell me—
when the floorboards settle,
do you still feel
the hair at the back of
your neck raise?
do you still chase your shadow
down the hallway,
searching for
some semblance
of a family?