The House That Killed Me


No one is home, no one at all.
Nothing stirs but the dreary presence of winter.
The bleakness makes my pale skin crawl.

I shift my eyes upwards and let them fall.
I stand at the door marked "Do not enter."
No one is home, no one at all.

I open the door with intentions to stall.
The hardwoods are now faded and in splinter.
The bleakness makes my pale skin crawl.

I remember the pictures that once hung in the hall.
I stand reminiscing, the lone dissenter.
No one is home, no one at all.

Better times I can't recall.
This house was my tormentor.
The bleakness makes my pale skin crawl.

Mold and decay riddle the weak walls.
To condemn, I am the first assenter.
No one is home, no one at all.
The bleakness makes my pale skin crawl.

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