this house is a cage for the deceitful lovers
and a loony bin for the normal. to call this
a shelter, protecting and comfortable, is
laughable. this house was made out of
all skin and no bone. the notion of losing
yourself to these white lies, to see yourself
put on a face unfamiliar, is a tragedy. i found
skeletons in the closets and blood coming out
of the bathroom sink faucets. i found black
widows underneath mattresses, scorpions hiding
between folds of the covers i sleep on. to feel
the opposite of reassuring in what plays itself
to be a warm house, is terrifying. i plan on
turning white, becoming the very lies so they
become true. the destiny of my lies built a
house of sand, and i’m being slowly swallowed
whole by the sands. i hide behind eight masks,
all to cover up my seven deadly sins. there is
unrest in this house. a monster lives here, i see
the blood everywhere i look and the scratch marks.
why does the monster only attack me and leave
more unnecessary scars? why does he make a
home in this house, put on my face, and walks
around like the floorboards aren’t the same quick
sand that dragged him into its grasp?

- kra