Why is the static gone—

the static that absorbed my noise and hate?

The peace I called home left;

now echoes take its place.

They shout back without guilt,

invading my space—

echoes I cannot fight,

for they feel no pain.

They remember everything.

They never forget to remind me

of every coin and second lost,

of everything I could have gained.

The echo bars the door of the unfurnished room.

It hates couches and beds;

a cozy space starves its memory.

So it kills mine instead.