the candles are lit with borrowed breath
and the house pretends to be clean
you call your guests by honorable names
but the walls know what they have eaten
beneath the marble the patient mouths wait
full of secrets you thought were buried
each floorboard a thin white eyelid
each hallway a throat that remembers
the mirrors repeat your excuses
which version of yourself do you believe tonight
the silver learns the taste of your fingers
every curtain is heavy with listening
every staircase loyal to no one
you built your comfort on quiet graves
did you think the dirt was deaf
and believed the dead were polite
believed they would stay where you put them
like furniture arranged for company
but rot is a language
and it travels upward
the careful demons of your making
thin as tax receipts
long as winter hunger
are rehearsing your true name
they have served you well enough
they have carried your plates
they have washed your bright red hands
and they are growing curious
when the last sweet thing is swallowed
when the cellar offers only echoes
they will remember who taught them to feed
do you think hunger has more mercy than you
soon the thin hands you hired
to hold up your heavy name
will learn the shape of your neck
will learn the language of hunger
soon the feast will finish itself
and the guests will look around
for something softer to swallow
you drank from the days of smaller lives
and called the emptiness profit
you licked the salt from tired skin
and learned to crave deeper wells
how much blood counts as reasonable interest
now the cup is empty
and still you are thirsty
and still you demand more
how much more do you imagine exists
justice sits blind in the parlor
counting the cracks in her scales
tired of mending what you keep breaking
how long did you expect her to wait
so she leaves the door unlatched
and turns her face to the window
what enters next needs no invitation
it is a footstep on the stair
it is breath behind the door
no mansion is deep enough
no garden wide enough
to hide the echo that is coming
cannibals at a bare table
chewing the final heirloom
finding nothing left to eat
but each other
Jan 20
Jan 20, 2026 at 12:50 PM UTC
the candles are lit with borrowed breath
and the house pretends to be clean
you call your guests by honorable names
but the walls know what they have eaten
beneath the marble the patient mouths wait
full of secrets you thought were buried
each floorboard a thin white eyelid
each hallway a throat that remembers
the mirrors repeat your excuses
which version of yourself do you believe tonight
the silver learns the taste of your fingers
every curtain is heavy with listening
every staircase loyal to no one
you built your comfort on quiet graves
did you think the dirt was deaf
and believed the dead were polite
believed they would stay where you put them
like furniture arranged for company
but rot is a language
and it travels upward
the careful demons of your making
thin as tax receipts
long as winter hunger
are rehearsing your true name
they have served you well enough
they have carried your plates
they have washed your bright red hands
and they are growing curious
when the last sweet thing is swallowed
when the cellar offers only echoes
they will remember who taught them to feed
do you think hunger has more mercy than you
soon the thin hands you hired
to hold up your heavy name
will learn the shape of your neck
will learn the language of hunger
soon the feast will finish itself
and the guests will look around
for something softer to swallow
you drank from the days of smaller lives
and called the emptiness profit
you licked the salt from tired skin
and learned to crave deeper wells
how much blood counts as reasonable interest
now the cup is empty
and still you are thirsty
and still you demand more
how much more do you imagine exists
justice sits blind in the parlor
counting the cracks in her scales
tired of mending what you keep breaking
how long did you expect her to wait
so she leaves the door unlatched
and turns her face to the window
what enters next needs no invitation
it is a footstep on the stair
it is breath behind the door
no mansion is deep enough
no garden wide enough
to hide the echo that is coming
cannibals at a bare table
chewing the final heirloom
finding nothing left to eat
but each other
