I live upstairs, even above the attic. My room is that space just above the ceiling, where the raccoons scurry about and the mildew smell comes from when you don’t run the air conditioner for six months.
I’m always here; I hardly leave my room, but I never leave the house. Even when my family is gone, I’m still here.
They never gave me a name, so I took one for myself. When they’re not here, and the answering machine kicks in, it says “Nobody’s home, so leave a message.”
That makes me Nobody. And Nobody is always home.
Insomniac Nightmares 
Recent Thoughts