There is something comforting about the dirt on the floor.
It reminds me of younger times, when things weren't so tense.
Makes me think of past houses, each given a special name.
It is like staring at the screen of a TV, and seeing your once innocent face.
You can never go back to then, nor can you pause now.
You are stuck, strapped to this ticking clock called life.
You can't scream, you can't break free, you certainly can't run.
You are stuck hanging from the wall, once a person, now soulless.
Your left up there, to your thoughts, your own screaming silence.
But, there is something comforting, about the dirt on the floor.