t h e s t i l l h o u s e

my presence often lingers in this still house silence has never been so excruciating a place that once carried a soul now drained of all life i mourn these dead memories

the sound of static floods my ears chipped paint on tattered walls

plants in pots that once danced with the sun now wilted, drenched in umber sorrow

a faltering roof threatening to crumble the once tough, fine-grained floors now rotting countertops that remain untouched collecting dust

a harsh, icy bite to the air rid of all warmth empty rooms full of bones from a bygone age this house no longer has spirit it’s no longer a home weathered, beaten, and abandoned

my stories that once lived in this home have come to an end it’s time to cut the string connecting me to a house i am unwelcome in i don’t belong in a place littered with remains of dead memories

this is a house void of its body, a skeleton a house engrossed by darkness a house with ghosts a house vacant of life

a still house.