The House

I go back to that house every day,

It’s quiet.
I unlock the door,
And step inside,
And every day, it haunts me,
The quiet.
It’s suffocating.
And the mean man is upstairs,

Waiting,
Watching,
But if I turn on some music,
If I chase away the quiet,
He won’t come down.
He doesn’t like the noise.
He’ll only emerge in the quiet,
In the darkness.

So, I drown him out,
And hope that he never learns,
To like the noise.