My House

People say I miss being a kid, but I say I miss growing old

I'm still too young to understand then

Now I'm growing fear on my tongue as it molds

I miss the house and I miss the smell and I miss the stories the walls would tell

There was that one that the walls would try to hide, to try to cover up what was inside

The memories aren't so clear now

and the paint has worn thin

Everything almost dilapitated

And I almost lost my grin

Maybe I don't miss the house

And maybe it's time to grow up

But my mind and nostalgia are to remain stuck