Would we even feel at home
In our own grave?
Because all of my life,
There were houses and buildings,
But never a home.

I stumbled through doors,
With paint peeling and cracks,
Embarking on a journey,
To find that missing piece,
In lonely nights and crowded streets.

The echoes of laughter,
Faded into silence,
As the walls closed in,
Reminding me time and again,
That bricks and mortar,
Can never guarantee,
The warmth of a true sanctuary.

I resided in spaces,
That consumed my every breath,
With hollowness hanging in the air,
Like a haunting melody,
Whispering secrets I couldn't comprehend.

In suffocating rooms,
I searched...