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.