Was my home built above the endless abyss

Was my home built above the endless abyss, Why do I feel beneath my steps the corpses of ancestors whispering in silence, Like invisible strings tightening around my neck, reminding me, Mocking the memory that I am merely an echo of them, a speck of dust. The place I cherished as a sanctuary was just a cemetery of regrets, Why do the walls still resonate with rebellion and rage, forgotten flames, Taunting me with fires that burn unseen in every corner of my being, Telling me I am just a thread in the hem of an old tapestry. Do not fight fate, the wind whispers through cracks and time, For every step I take is a dance with shadows, with the past, A game of light and darkness, where each memory hurts, But in the depths, it is just a story that needs to be told, heard, accepted.