i like broken houses a little too much.
shattered glass rotting floorings
dust and cobwebs and echoings
so you can nearly hear the laughter and the cries
of her old residents
and how she's kept them in an ivory box
all those years
in her basement
while everything else ******* falls to pieces
and there's nobody to mend a single thing.
maybe nothing's the same after hearing
a hospital hall's echo and how he only
tries to get away from the screams and kisses
and the pristine courtains barerly let light in
and he's a broken mess that hasn't been abandoned
but the impending damnation breaks him
and kills others
death resides but so does life
and which one is stronger
and poetry cannot fix the world
or fix her or fix him or anybody
and buildings should be buildings and a dust-covered door
should not be a call for my curiosity and i should not
mark my fingerprints on it because my sweaty palms
will make her shriek awake and believe
someone's finally going to take care of her
while someone else then walks away
and leaves her walls stained
i feel the allure of it somehow because
there's no more ******* glass to stain break scratch
within her so i must find some in me some that can contain her
and contain me i'm falling
fallingfallingfelldownandwhereaminow
and hospital halls are nothing but white and sad and a cemetery
that's being pieced together and it smells of cleaning products
but the abandoned place has harbored entire lives
so maybe i'd rather bleed out at an abandoned
house without glass
than next to a graveyard in the make
people tell me i should stop thinking so much.
pt. I of II of my abadoned houses saga.
