In this house, even the walls have eyes, watching every single step, deciding if it's dangerous like I'm the prisoner, like I'm the monster. I can go out still never forgetting who holds the controller, and how fast your fingers can ruin the entire day. I can have friends but never bring them home, unless I want to serve them like a main dish to your judgment, unless I want more enemies. I can be in the room alone, hide between four walls still with your ear pressed to the door, haunted by every word, like I'm the target to be killed. I can have passwords on my devices, still you have to know them all. You never go through my things, then why are they always replaced? I can talk to you openly still judged for each word that comes from my mouth. I can make plans, but never make them work with you. Just like I can have dreams that won't happen.