It's a madhouse.

I need to get out. All I can hear is shouting, no words. All I can feel is crowded, no love. These are four walls that keep me warm, but this, by far, is no home. I've never felt safe, not once, not ever.These people, these residents that obtain the other rooms, they aren't my family; mere demons. Why can I feel incharge for once? Why is it I can be stepped on and pushed around just because you have legal custody of me? I am not a prize, an object you keep in your home. I AM YOUR CHILD. And I can't wait until I have the money to get away, because once I do I'll never have to see your face again; let alone acknowledge that you're alive.