This house once had noise in it,
But all I have now is the violent silence,
To crack my spirit,
And stain the floorboards crimson.
With my thoughts splattered across the glass,
I examine the gallow doorway,
As it whispers welcoming slurs.
And as my mind begins to postulate the ****** promises,
The frosty touch of fear drags up my spine,
Preventing me from conversing with the doorway.

This house once had noise in it,
But all I have now is the violent silence,
Broken every second,
By the tick tock ticking of a silver clock.
The deafening sound,
Which maintains my thoughts,
And therefore my existence,
For if I did not think,
I would not be,
And if I were not to be,
Then I would not see,
The curtain pulled rooms,
Where shadows rejoice on land reclaimed.
And as I stare into the empty void,
A thousand pairs of eyes stare through me,
Knowing,
That one day they will dance,
In what was once my safe haven,
But is now my prison.

But I’ll welcome the loss of light,
For this house has a new found noise in it,
And it brings me no delight.