Simple things turn into complicated things,

happy turns into angry,

smiles turn into frowns,

and whispers turn into yelling.

It's better for me to stay quiet, 

even though I feel like screaming. 

It's better for me to die alone and inside

instead of bringing someone else down with me.

Things are complicated.

They used to be simple.

There is anger in this house.

It used to be happiness.

There is a cold frown upon her face.

It used to be a sweet smile.

That yelling heard all around.

It used to be whispers.

She screamed.

And now she wishes that she stayed quiet.

She brought someone down with her.

When they thought she died alone.

The person who was brought down with her was her murderer.