Room BY room

The bathroom mirror’s cracked at the side,

Still catches me crying at 2:45.

Cold tiles underneath my feet,

Trying not to make a sound when I breathe.

There’s a stain on the sink where I rested my head,

Counting every bad thought circling again.

And the shower still hisses like static and rain,

Like the house remembers every version of pain.

Every room holds a ghost of me,

Frozen where I used to be.

Cause the kitchen knows the sound of screaming,

The hallway knows the weight of leaving,

My bedroom learned the shape of sleepless nights.

And every wall still hums low,

With all the things nobody knows,

Like secrets buried underneath the light.

I don’t live there anymore,

But somehow the house still knows my name.

The kitchen light flickers amber and weak,

Like it’s tired of hearing families speak.

Plates stacked high like unpaid debts,

Words thrown harder than objects get.

There’s a chair still pushed back unevenly,

From the night you said what I became to me.

And the clock never worked after half past three,

Like time stopped wanting to see.

Every doorway feels the same,

A photograph trapped in a frame.

Cause the kitchen knows the sound of screaming,

The hallway knows the weight of leaving,

My bedroom learned the taste of lonely nights.

And every floorboard still shakes,

From every promise people break,

Echoing long after goodbye.

I don’t live there anymore,

But somehow the house still knows my name.

Now strangers probably walk those halls,

Hang their coats where I used to fall.

Maybe they painted over the walls,

Maybe they don’t hear anything at all.

But sometimes I swear when the city sleeps,

That house still breathes remembering me.

The attic keeps my childhood voice,

The front door keeps every impossible choice.

And maybe homes don’t stay haunted by the dead,

Maybe they’re haunted by the people

Who survived there instead.

Cause the bathroom knows the tears I swallowed,

The staircase knows the nights I followed

Every bad thought straight into the dark.

And even miles away from it,

I still feel pieces of myself within

Every cracked ceiling, every burn mark.

I don’t live there anymore,

I haven’t for years.

But somehow…

The house still knows my name.