This House

This house is old and

Hidden bones lie under
Floorboards, remnants
Of ghosts asking to be let
Free, the fire burned their
Flesh and left them with
Wounds so severe they prove

Incapable of moving themselves,
Shells of past lives whispering like
Shadows in the dark, trees without
Bark swaying in the harsher gales,
Last sales were made fleetingly
The lease a long handed scrawl,

Still they crawl to the surface and
I hopscotch these rooms, waiting
For the moment the new residents
Arrive, wide eyes watch as we come
And go, the trinity of ghosts paving
Trails like crumbs, echoing laughter

Like spreading fun thin on broken
Children, the villain lies with them
Too, his skin black and blue from
Revenge, around each bend are
Warnings carved into paintings
Mounted on the walls, my portrait,

The least damaged of them all, yet
Still, they call to me on the landline
Phone and whisper pleasantries like
Its normal. All I want to do is escape,
So I map my way with the moving
Van and get out of that house, as

Fast as I can.


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