Horror House of Hope

If these walls could
gawk, ocean eyes chalked where
the studs should be, they
would look into
my soul and judge the
sadness that just
won’t budge or support
a single picture.

If these walls could speak,
their words would be a trickster, deals made with devils, and yet, you’re the illusion here.

If we assigned mettle to their metaphors,
fields of
your great war where
drywall meets
the floor, you’d never
make it out the door, darling,
parlaying with
golden knobs.

They never opened when
I was here, why would
they when I’m
gone?

If these walls
could walk and feel the weight,
dirt would be tracked
across the house
like grape juice paint,

and the blood stains ain’t
ever coming off. 

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6 thoughts on “Horror House of Hope

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