This House
This House
This house, the one where I reside. The floorboards are cold and the
small windows are covered with dust. As I walk the walls echo with
the sound of emptiness. Repeating the sound that echoes within the
walls of my heart. I turn the corner and fear stares back at me. The
mirror of my life. Down the old wooden planks into the basement of my
memories. Descending the molded stairs into the cornerstones of my
mind. Empty, like my soul. I feel the dank misery of this house.
The smell that weaves its hooded claws into the fabric of my skin.
The smell that lingers long after I leave this place. I hear water
dripping somewhere in this darkness. The tears of mourning for a
childhood lost. I follow the teardrops to their source. I feel the
salty water drip down the side of my face. From the house or from me?
I lie down on the cool earth floor of the sub-terra. I lie down and
feel empty. Empty and safe in this house. This is my home.
