What do you walk into
when you go through that door,
returning home?
Is it your hearth,
your sanctuary,
or a mere shadow
of the place
you used to love?
Are the people ghosts,
spirits floating aimlessly,
specters of forgotten dreams
echoing through
the stagnant halls?
Did you feel safe once,
secure and warm
inside your room?
Is it just a shell now,
a lifeless skin shed,
outgrown and bare?
Can you even call it home
anymore?
