This house is made of ice.
A gelid, brass interior awaits me with wicked vice.
Stepping through the frozen doors,
I fall into my own homely grave.
A familiar capsule with silky floors.
Paintings hang upon each wall,
Lifeless and disturbed.
Although, the images do utter one final whisper before tightening the noose—
“Beware of the abominable master of abuse.”
I wish to float,
As with each step the rivers of blood in my feet howl.
Icicles pierce through my soles;
Daggers with a bright smile...
I am only ever welcomed into this house of ice
With a vast iniquitous price.