#attic
The attic is cold
The house is shut out
The doors are closed
And the windows are locked
You still choose to sleep
In the coldest room
But you shiver and cry
Wondering what to do
The heater is warm
But you stay far away
Opening the window
Letting the heat escape
Yet you always say
You're trying to change
The lonely household
Turning into your cave
6d ago
May 28, 2026 at 5:11 PM UTC
Dancing in the attic,
I hide from the Passerby,
Confronting their eyes—
Traumatic.
Listen to the words I try to imply.
These beings mean no harm,
To me, they seem strange.
As they embezzle in my charm,
All I see them as, deranged.
Feb 27, 2025
Feb 27, 2025 at 10:50 AM UTC
The sound won’t stop ringing in my ear
that familiar voice that I can’t unheard
every time I reach the pathway of where the attic was located
I tried to tell my parents about it numerous of times on a daily basis
but it’s like they can’t even hear
and they act like my curiosity is nothing
as if they’re playing the quiet game on me
now I’m left with suspicion every night
and soon one day I couldn’t bear it any longer
so one night I waited till my parents are asleep
and creeped through the hallways
trying not to step on the creaky floorboards
until I finally reached to where the attic was
as I touch the texture of the wooden door of above
the door slips and the stairs fall down to my knees
I climb the stairs and when I reached higher and higher
I felt very off….
but I brushed that feeling off
when I got inside I examined my surroundings
it was slightly cramped and dark
with only a large window creating a light source
through the gleaming light source it was flashing on something
quite odd looking
I couldn’t really see what it was until I got closer
suddenly I heard the strange noise again coming from it
when I reached my hand out to touch it it felt cold
I turned it over and I finally saw it
it was a person with their jaw ripped off
their mouth was hanging out with remnants of dry blood
their eyes were pure white with no pupils
and their body was super thin and rather fragile like a stick bug
with leeches munching on the dead pale flesh
I was speechless
not as if I was terrified
even though I felt like I was supposed too
because when I saw the face I knew who it was
it was me
then I started to realize why the sound was so familiar
and as I stare at the large window
my reflection was not looking back at me
It was never there to begin with
Jan 9, 2025
Jan 9, 2025 at 7:32 PM UTC
Since I was a little kid
There was something
Deeply disturbing about
The attic at my parent's
It was chilling cold there
It made unnatural noises
And it felt like the walls
Were always watching
One night when I was 17
And home alone, I woke up
To what sounded like nails
Scratching the wooden panels
So at the top of my teenager
Stupidity, I took an old pistol
And went to check out what
Was going on there
I went upstairs, gun drawn
Just to have my jaw dropped as
I saw this slim and tall shadow
Standing in front of the fireplace
I stood there in utter shock for
What seemed like a lifetime
Until I gathered the courage
To ask: 'who are you?'
The shadow replied with
A deep and inhuman voice:
'I'm the demon that your
Grandfather brought with him
From the Great War in the east
From him, I passed down to your
Father and now the time has
Come for me to dwell in you'
In an adrenaline rush, I ran
Downstairs as fast as I could
Slammed my beedroom door
Locked it and barricaded it
But the demon wouldn't quit
He tried to break in, frantically
Pounding and screaming:
'Let me in, let me in'
Jan 8, 2025
Jan 8, 2025 at 5:15 PM UTC
No longer of use,
The static colliding,
The past in recluse
In the attic, residing
Colors rot in the dust
Pictures die in the silence,
As corpses make fust
And complain under pileus.
The mycelium harvest,
In boredom, they thrive.
And much like the artist
Through flesh, their roots rive.
A place where ghosts and ghoul like to screech,
A place where even the flies couldn’t reach.
Nov 7, 2024
Nov 7, 2024 at 11:15 AM UTC
Parchment frayed, edge crumbled to silky ash.
A single candle’s flicker caught dancing
to whispers from dust crackling their secrets.
The window sweats, powdered by evening snow.
His droplets quench the thirst of the rotted floor.
A mouse scurries, elated for its flow.
Etched in the corner, a rope swings freely.
Held together by habit above all.
Beneath it rests nothing more than shade.
Jul 20, 2024
Jul 20, 2024 at 1:49 PM UTC
I like the attic,
sitting in the armchair, in --
front of the window.
Oct 8, 2023
Oct 8, 2023 at 2:52 AM UTC
We played game in the attic
Forever avoiding the basement
We were always happiest
Believing that we were above everyone else
Nov 2, 2020
Nov 2, 2020 at 8:24 AM UTC
The door in the attic is peculiar
Sometimes I am lucky enough to find it cold
And I will stumble inside and fall
Far away from here
It's like a dream, a new life
You must look around and above you
And then you will see it
Above, up there, high, far away
There it was, I saw the hole
Through my fluttering eyelids it was always grey
But when I say so
Mother starts to weep uncontrollably
From here I can only sit and watch and ponder
Where it starts and where it ends
And if there is a castle of wonder
I'd like to see it one day
Even if I am old and empty
And I have lived forever
Even if I am all bones and dust and dead
But I'm still alive and my pulse is fascinating
I stand up and run, maybe if I run fast enough
I will start to fly
Yet all that comes of it is a dizzy heart and burning eyes
Sometimes, the Big Grey will ask me,
"What are you searching for?"
I don't know yet, I just want to see past the shadow
What is it like, where dreams are told,
Where dreams are sold?
On the days that she sits me down
And tells me what's real and what's not real
I wish I could give Mother a dream too
Because the lines on her face make her look so tired
And that's when they start fluttering again
Open. Close. Open. Close. Open. Close.
Open.
When will I know what dreams are like?
Oct 2, 2020
Oct 2, 2020 at 5:23 AM UTC
Trains pass by
Hiding bombs
Waiting to kiss the sky
Of the blue hours
I've been drowning in.
Another pill passing lips
From broken fingertips.
I wonder why my hands died
Before the rest of me could.
Empty monsters
Fill up attics
With my dead friends.
They walk past
Poems
Laughter and
Love
Just as empty by the end
As they were at the start.
So far
Nobody good
Has mentioned
My dead hands.
The drunken ghosts
Whispering to walls
Still blame me
For your death.
And my beauty is blurred
By my dead hands.
And my chest is bruised
By your young death.
And my glass philosophy
Has begun to shatter
Under the light
Of the blue hours
I've been drowning in.
Sep 13, 2020
Sep 13, 2020 at 6:52 PM UTC
late
in lamplight's hiss
I sat and watched the attic dust
dance under spotlights cast
by moonbeam
skylights
on a stage of memory
and forgetting
Sep 11, 2020
Sep 11, 2020 at 10:14 AM UTC
Death is a friend who caught my eye
Ten years and three months ago
Up in the attic
Hiding all alone.
When the monsters come and find me
They'll take me back home.
& Death is a friend
Kept closer than any.
He doesn't get angry
His eyes never leak
As he watches me paint lies
Over blue bruising cheeks.
Death is a friend
I'm falling in love with
As months crawl by
I'm gaining the courage
For that first final kiss.
I almost was brave
Ten months & three weeks ago
Driving alone down an old country road
Death in my passengers seat
My skin growing cold.
& Death is a friend
I'm more than halfway in love with
He was all I could see in your face
As you painted in bruises & blood
To put me in my place.
& I cried to the old brick road
I told all of my secrets
I told of all my pain.
Death is a friend
I fell madly in love with
Ten days and three hours ago
Hiding in that alley alone
Begging for death to take the rest of me.
Or some profound piece of me.
But Death is a friend
As cruel as he is kind
In moments of need
He is nearly impossible to find.
Ten hours & three minutes ago
I chose to make death mine.
After ten glasses of wine
These three bottles of pills have finally fogged my mind.
Here I lie
In the attic alone.
I've only got one cigarette left to go
Till the monsters will never find me again.
Jun 4, 2020
Jun 4, 2020 at 5:08 PM UTC
Little shadow
harked madam
a bird who wears her wings
only as wardrobe
(though she dreams
in fits
of infantasy)
dusty in her bedroom
in trust to her headspace
an attic dweller
home school tutored
a burden to her wellspring
and buried to her title
averted
feet behind the curtain
little shadow
with the unclaimed
the name of
Elizabeth
**
A foe in the night
an aviary of the berserk :
vocal nicker
and disputes at high frenzy
lend from her garret
uneasy on the household
coughing up all of the family
cussing from their berths
the awoken
shamble and mumble in the hallway
move in a broken thread up to her attic
they’ll crack open her privacy
and find her fast out on the bedding
you can’t spell that to her ghost
in Elizabeth’s sleep
it’s sprung from its host
a living haunting
a messed up devotion
expresses itself on the family
enforces itself emotionally
the hallways are trailed
with dried flowers
and stinging nettles
don’t tread the halls at night
without a pair of slippers
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 5:53 PM UTC
I’m just metaphorical speaking
I meant writing..I’m actually typing though.
There’s something I want you to know...
I decided to reopen that attic door.
It was suppose to be open many times before.
I went up them stairs frighten and scared.
Wood started creaking, Voices were speaking.
Unpleasant feeling triggers all in head.
Feels like a threat but I ignore them instead.
All these old friends that I neglected.
I’m just a person “why would they be affected?”
Due to abandonment layers of dust had collected.
Decided to handle it I knew problems would be expected.
My back turned is not an exception.
Time to clean up my messes.
Jun 2, 2019
Jun 2, 2019 at 10:02 AM UTC
attic civet cats,
wake me up; in a day past.
time travel by chance!
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 11:06 AM UTC
Grandmother had told me tales of the past,
Fairytales that we’ve all heard of,
The maidens in the scullery maid attire,
transforming to the princesses with the
embroidered and jeweled gowns; rivulets of silks and satins,
blue as the sea, greener than the highlands, more purple
then the dusky skylines, a true stamp
of royalty, poise, eloquence, and beauty.
And ensembles topped off with gold
encrusted and amethyst crowns.
Sure, the fairytales were what I lingered
onto during the years of my inexplicitly
innocent childhood, that I wished I still had.
I missed it, the tales, the anecdotes
that shaped my perception on love, hope, and faith,
far off from what I viewed in the looking mirror today.
I missed my grandmother’s hands, brittle and worn,
but kind and warm; I still thought about them
as I cleaned out the attic in which I’d forgotten existed.
And I grew up, my memories of it faded,
now covered in cobwebs and bristling wind
that sent a chill up my spine, but I found
much more than what my memory had allowed me to collect.
Amulets from what I assumed to be my grandmother’s youth
were stowed and tucked away in the alcove of a velvet shelf,
hidden by the splintered of decaying wood.
Next to the swell of the dresser, the door of the
furnishing remained ajar, revealing manila
colored increments of letters, some harbored
by the envelopes, some pierced out in the open.
The edges had crippled away,
flecks falling to the sandalwood bottom.
They were timeless, old, maybe not important,
to the wandering eyes of a stranger.
But to me - they held a mystery
that was waiting to be unraveled.
A story of my grandmother’s life she never shared with me,
just as private as she was open, perhaps I’d find in those envelopes
the same mindset I also had when I was young.
Perhaps she believed and dreamt of fairytales I had once done,
paraded around in the jewels and bangles hidden way,
basked in the ambiance of a sweet love
that was doomed to end in the decay of both parties.
Little figurines of silver and gold were placed under one
of the drawers parked away in the furnishing,
toys form her childhood, weighted by standard and price.
Her words I had adored as a child,
ate them up like sickly syrup and supported
them as if they were undiscovered treasure, but
now I finally got to “see” my grandmother’s
treasures deposited in her attic, the very place she
had hidden the most interesting stories that she
left for me to discover after she left.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC
clatter in attic,
cloud army rehearses war dance;
cleans dusty armour!
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 5:21 AM UTC
Not myself,
Not with those wide staring eyes.
Staring through this wall of water,
Leaking from my attic spaces.
My brain leaks fears, like a rusty tin tap.
No, not myself.
Not with these thoughts or falling tears.
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 11:09 PM UTC
Now when you paint, you've got to do it in a correct way. But make sure not to leave any lines. Otherwise you'll have to cover them up. If however you do, make sure you do it smoothly. That way no one could ever see them and your mistake will be hidden
Blink
Now your mind begins to think
Did they see
Where could they be
EXACTLY!
Maybe I'm overthinking
What does it matter.
It's all the same.
It's blended as best as could be.
No one will ever know of the ***** deed that I did.
Up and down
Continous in repeat
May I speak
I fell in weak
Now I reek
I be
No wait
I bleed
These lines of imperfection
But twist them to a misconception
Addiction to it
I'm used to it
**** IT, AGAIN??
No worries. I'll just fix it.
But what do they know
They can't identify
Someone of wrong
That seems right
But honeslty
They seep
And they're seen
For a Reason.
I bleed these
Because the tension is to hard for me
The vessel is corrupt
And enough is enough
But it's too rough
When these lines bleed
A release
Of ease
To please
Me
Of everything
That others don't see
Is pushed onto me
I'm free
I'm relieved
Wait...
He seen...
WAIT PLEASE DON'T LEAVE
Lines that lie of his life
Of an addicts attic for a long time
Never enough
so bundle it up
Exposed to the lies
No more
I swear I'll try
But how can you say that won't
When you can go behind my back
And just take another pack
And just continue off track
From your pact
Ah forget it...it's useless
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 10:11 PM UTC
I was in corner
Collecting dust
Waiting for you
Loyal to you
Until awareness
Consumed me.
I saw,
You didn’t even want me.
So I left.
I took my first,
Full,
Breath.
Since the attic
Of which
You left me
And forgot me.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 4:08 PM UTC
sleeping in the attic.
I allow the sensation,
the atmosphere to be formed and felt
No illusion of yours
creates the things I imagine and feel
on my own,
alone.
In this attic
some would say
the slanting ceilings
bring me down
But I,
would disagree.
which is why
I'm In the attic
I see the peek. The rising walls
Lifting me along with it
Though their opinions are not relevant,
So should be my choice of words.
but, because, though
I'm here.
I'm here because I chose to be
here.
choose to stay
The walls too close to echo
my thoughts.
too close to shout
Even the whispers are heard
in full volume
Maybe I rushed that one out.
let's take it back to,
the attic.
Not room for too much,
Just too little time to worry
about space for the things
You don't need.
don't use,
or don't have.
Only the things that belong
make it with you
When you live in a space,
like this
I'd cover the walls,
Though I don't like the metaphor
I'd wait until tomorrow
to address the issue,
Though I have no way of knowing
when tomorrow has arrived.
yet here i am.
Avoiding it anyway.
and I'm already hearing myself being talked,
and thought.
into only a space as small as these 4 uneven walls
allow.
to no surprise.
Only until I closed my eyes
did I see
The reason I'm here
In the attic.
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
Up the stairs
she would climb
Into the attic
at night-time.
Her little legs
crawled up each stair
and soon she discovered
what was up there.
Antiques from all kinds
of things she had never seen.
The attic was quite dusty
as if it had never been cleaned.
She scattered through every box
and discovered a trunk.
She searched for a key
and found one under some junk.
She opened it to find a photo
of someone with her.
She looked closely.
The person was unfamiliar.
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 2:41 PM UTC
Susie snuggles
up to close to Polly
in the large iron bedstead,
places her cheek
against Polly's back,
her hands wrapped around
Polly's waist.
Polly sleeps;
a long day behind,
a long day ahead.
The cold night air in the attic,
makes Susie snuggle
closer still to Polly.
She listens;
hears the other maid's breathing;
she wants to kiss her,
but dares not.
She puts her lips close
to Polly's back
and pretends a kiss.
She wants a real kiss,
to kiss the lips
and hold close
as close can be,
but she dare not:
Polly would smack
her face or worse.
She had watched
Polly undress for bed;
it had made her day
that removing of clothing,
each time a little more
sight of flesh.
Some mornings(at 5am)
she pretends sleep,
watching Polly undress,
washing naked
with cold water
from the enamel bowl,
watching through
the slits of her eyes,
but says nothing
just a mouthful lies.
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 3:38 AM UTC
Susie watches Polly
undress for bed.
Watches as she takes off
the white headdress
lets loose her black hair
the tresses down
over her shoulders.
Sees her unbutton
the black maids' dress
at the back
with her thin fingers.
Takes in how she steps out
of the dress and folds it
and puts into the chair
by the window.
Studies her removing
the thin white slip
which she puts
on top of the dress.
Polly sighs
and unclips
the black stockings
sits on the side
of the bed
takes them off
throwing them
over the side.
She stands up
removes her girdle
puts it on the chair
and looks back at Susie
and says
the **** you gawking at?
Just waiting for you
Susie says
Polly grabs an old nightdress
and puts it on
sniffs it
then grabs her
dressing gown
and puts it on.
She climbs into
the double bed
pulls up
the sheet and blankets
lies down
next to Susie.
The bed creaks
and the springs groan.
Shall I blow out
the candle now?
Susie says.
Sure why not
what's to see
Polly replies.
Susie blows out
the candle by the bed
they plunge
into darkness
except where
the moon glows outside.
Susie senses lust
kept shut up inside.
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 11:09 AM UTC