Tears are no longer falling.
The water has run dry.
The dust is taken a new home.
A home I can no longer call.
The wounds that built me lives in the walls, of the dreams I slept.
The sound of a storm still makes me silent.
Scared to make a noise before getting struck with the lighting.
The place that held my back but took it all.
This place is not mine.
This is a dream that I do longer can see.
The hurt is living in the walls to tell another.
This is just a holding until the next.
Misconception 