I sit aligned with all you others,
Sameness in sync, no flaw seen.
Go down the line and you will come to me,
The one with the jubilant melody
floating from a wind chime
that sings nothing but serenity.
Every brick in place, the lawn
Evergreen.
The vision never looked so clean.

My door is clenched shut, unmoving.
You may look, but not come inside.
For the interior walls withhold
ancient echoes made of both
whispers and screams.
The mirrors are blurred.
Ghostly flames swallow the rooms,
feasting on moments fine as china,
devouring precious valuables.
I’m afraid the smoke will run for the chimney
spilling what lies behind drawn shades.  

I do not wish to be a sight in the window,
Looking outward from this hidden suburbia
Longing to be free.
In time, I’ll open the door.
It may be a minute or two,
Perhaps even three.
For now, my red roses will stay masked
behind the white picket fence and
I’ll let people believe.
They’ll admire, eyes alight, and leisurely stride by
thinking I have nothing to hide.