my humble abode

I built this home, for myself, from my bones. Lurking between narrow hallways ever so quietly squeeking the wooden floorboards whose bone rattling shrieks sound like the screams and the moans from below the grass and the hollow. The walls are made from my thoughts and the cealing from my hopes; so high up no one could ever reach them. However I am not a prisoner here, I can leave anytime I want. But I like it here. The smell of old hopes still lingering in the cracks of the couch cushions, and the feelings of uncertainty around every corner. Even though I have resided here for what feels like a hundred years. But I built this home, for myself, from my bones, and I am just content enough to breath this rancid air one more day.