Open Your Eyes

When does a house stop being a home? When do people you thought loved you turn into passing strangers?

When does a cry of sadness turn to a tear, a choke?

Time is not a healer;Time tortures you

slowly, forcing you to think about your mistakes.

Or rather, theirs.

You see,

time and silence work hand

in hand, the

quiet drags out the pain like a

sharp knife,

slowly slicing through a hoarse throat.

Distractions are not for victims- they

are the product of discarded

hope,

an empty void longing to be filled.

The incandescent glow of the bathroom light, paired with the demanding darkness of the toilet bowl.

Why is an absent mind so much to ask for?

When does a house stop stop being a home? When do people you thought loved you turn into passing strangers?

When you open your eyes to the

reckless reality,

where the only distraction is

death.