Mother yelled at me for painting on the wall in the back garden. I said ‘It’ll be something to remember me by when I‘m dead.’ She went back inside.
Soon i'll become within the walls of my own home. A voice no longer heard along with footsteps, deep breaths, and tantrums. The sounds i put into the house no longer contribute to the foundation. I might as well have died and had the remainder of my flesh and soul cemented into its walls, so at least i could be there to watch them live on without me.