The basement was like a colder world
underneath the happy house.
The attic was a different conversation.
The way she tore her room apart
was all she had to keep
the pictures in their frames.

The shadows on her white wall
were more vivid than the posters
in between them. They looked
like all the people she avoided.
She told him she was waiting up,
her window always opened,
it didn’t look like he was stopping by

Sometimes the world stopped moving
for her, so she could get a better look.
It always knew when there was something
she should see.
The morning came before
her given nightmares,
but she had a good idea
what they would be.

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