You sit in the dark house
with the ominous ceiling
with the chipping paint
and the rusty swing in the back.

You feel at home
letting the walls close in around you
comforting you in that sick, twisted way
it always does.

Though, this is not your house.
It is a ‘for sale’ sign you found
in the eye of a stranger
and it’s the same sign you found
in your closest companions shaking voice
in your mothers silent tears.  

You do not realize that this is
their doing
You believe you have built the twisted shelter
on your own
With your own heavy hammer
Adding weight with each swing

You close
your dusty, dark curtains
to the stretching fingers
of a warm sun
that you deserve.

And you sit
Feeling unspeakably alone
in a house
that is not your own.

-DZ