Sitting still inside of a cavernous house As the dust tickles the nose of a whitened mouse The windows need cleaning, my bed sheets a washing βTis a pity Iβm filthy, too. Vibratos of floor creaks ache their pains Throughout the haze of the summer rains And the creased paper that lies precariously on my desk Trembles like the madman who set it there.
Shadows float like bubbles off the ground And rumble collectively and make soft sound Their silhouettes quiver; their souls give and shiver As they mix and discombobulate the atmosphere. And now, the sounds appear once more Could it be that someone is at the door? I dare not move nor attempt to exist Inside my impenetrable defense of this.
Now, I feel my volcanoes beginning to erupt As the foggy silence is suddenly made to disrupt For a thousand voices and more are born And create lives of their very own. Hands that belong to exact-looking men Demolish the foundation of my once safe den However, when the dust settles, I look to myself And realize that it was once again me.