Cracked walkways like smiles
cracked in a hallway
at the side of the house
lead the way to my crooked little
house. Where the lies
are dim and the air is cold.
We have special things to do
in my house
where the air is thick
and lies are old.
Snakes cling to the walls like
wet shirts in my house
where the foundation is sick
and the cries are mold.
Special things to do, I say
Special things, indeed.
Everything is special in my house
where the smiles are slick
and the eyes are cold.
There is a special hole
in the basement of my house.
Where the lights are shaded
and the nights long.

And the hole grows.