What do you do when
Tissues are your best friend,
When waiting is all you do,
When darkness is all you see,
And when floors creaking is all you hear?

Empty boxes and boxes of tissues on the floor begin to match up with the empty bottles on the table,
Drenching your tears as your tissue becomes doused,
Perched at the back door wondering whether your mother is ever going to come home.

Blackness and shadows linger upon the floor, daring you to speak out and whisper, “Who's there?”
Making shapes on the dark walls is your only pastime, dangerously flickering silhouettes.
There is only the snoring and floorboards echoing across the walls to comfort your own four-year-old self, in doubt that will have any effect.

What do you do when
Tissues are your best friend,
When waiting is all you do,
When darkness is all you see,
And when floors creaking is all you hear?
I say that a stuffed animal should be a child's best friend,
I say that playing is all that a child should do,
I say that their parents' glorious faces are all that children should see,
And the sound of their own laughter is all they should hear.