Poisoned doorway

 

Nothing grows

no moss-covered words.

Brickwork of

ivy climbing verbs.

No staccato cobweb messages,

all that remains is a faded visage.

A mental tirade of a home.

A graveyard of pained memories.

The doorway framed with poison,

the windows coated in unspoken verses,

the walls bled from the page.

 

The floorboards once rumbled

with gentle excitement,

the furnishing used to be

song loving flowers,

sunbeam curtains of diamond white.

The television rarely seen

amidst the wispy dreams

that coated the walls,

and music hugged

the ceiling beams.

Rooms that sparkled only

to be joyous.

Eruptions of hope

in flower filled chorus.

 

Now feet only crunch

over carcass shards,

broken promises

and stolen heartbeats.

Charred remnants

of love letters

lost.

Still burning hearts

fill the old fireplace,

but drifting embers

sweep up the chimney

into another dream.

 

Inside used to be cakes

baking in the summer heat,

the smell of love

bubbling on the stove.

We spoke. And we sung.

Of futures unseen,

of futures not to be.

Inside we danced our perfect

 

Prison...

 

For it was all lies.

The despising eyes,

the way the sighs

outplayed the highs.

The way every day

felt like a dark night.

The abuse of the mind,

under gaslit light,

and now the place sits empty

devoid of life or love of any kind.

It’s time to bring in the bulldozer.