This house pulls you in and taunts you away
Drowns you with its quickest current
Dunks you into these cigarettes walls
Takes you to war like the soldiers that came before,
Before your small family packed yourself up quietly
Moved in to be shaken up
Spit back out and swallowed up
The tiles dig into your feet, making you run or stand still
The pipes rattle and sing you a war song
The lights flicker or don’t come on at all

Sometimes I like that best
This house isn’t a home, it’s a burial shroud of the grass never being greener on the other ******* side
You will never get out of this tide

You’d trot up to me like an aged horse
our pasture matted down by our footprints
I’d ask you the same advice I always do
You don’t reply, that’s never the issue

They get jealous and insecure, but you’re nothing more than an old friend

You ever picture insanity?
Monstrosity
Barefoot wineglass catastrophe

I knew he wasn’t a poet, a writer, a prophet or lover in the way he never came back.

When you get the news you may be dying, chocolate doesn’t taste any sweeter.

I craved leaving like the sea begged the shore to come to bed.
I craved not moving a muscle like exhaustion rattled my bones.
For once in my life I was content in the standstill.

And if you lay at my back it’s hard to breathe. Two spines don’t equal out eloquently.
There’s mountains between us, and craters catered to the absence of the words the wind wished you’d say.