There's No Place Like Home

I hate this house
the way the roof leaks and cracks
as if it will buckle at any moment
My mind is cluttered by the stacks and stacks of
"stuff"
Just matter and material;
memories held onto with iron grip
I hate the way this house moans
When the wind blows too hard it cries
and I echo
The holes punched in the walls reminds me of times I've struggled to forget
The picture frames hung in front of them cannot erase that
I hate this house
But when all I can think of is
"I want to go home"
Where else would I go but here?
Not one nook or cranny is void of a memory
Some days they scream so loud I can't hear anything else