I know this house, but it's not home-
my blood has spilled between these walls
my tears have watered this cold floor,
and here my nightmares learned to crawl.

My fingers know each speck of paint
I have breathed in each mite of dust
my eyes have gazed upon each book
my heart still mourns the loss of trust.

I bled in ink, I wept in words
I laid my heart out, beating, bare
I spun entreaties for an ear
I found not one was listening there.

And if I should return someday,
and take my seat back at the hearth-
as dancing flames ensnare my gaze,
know I have gone into the dark.