I dragged myself up the creaky stairs, my legs feeling like lead and my arms sore from the heavy workload I had to do. I opened the door, cringing at the sharp creaks and pierced my ears. I looked into the dark that was my room, the familiar of rusted copper hitting my nose. My room was dark, black. Like the abyss that continued to swallow me day by day. In this room, I felt small, I felt insignificant. But it accepts me, it's where I belong. I shuffled to the dirty rug I called my bed. On this, how many night have I cried on? How many times have I bled on? How many days have I spent on? I feel like... a dream, constantly drifting, real but at the same time not. Spending my days drifting, a ghost of my past. My ears picked up the noise of creaking, the noise of the stairs, the noise of my hell.