If these walls could talk, surely, they’d scream
So loud that this whole house would shake
And there I’d sit,
restlessly, anxiously
On the bed I’d grown into and out of,
Under the same frames holding the same pictures that have faded from each days protruding sunlight 
This room where I spent so many nights laying awake
Desperately searching for some semblance of worthiness,
of purpose,
Watching the cracks inch from floor to ceiling
It’d take years for the roof to collapse under the weight
A troubled home built only to break
The drywall falls until there’s nothing but dust,
The cloudy smoke – dissipates  
The last thing you’ll ever taste

From The Vault, date unknown.