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The walls of my new house do not talk to me..

They mock me with their stoic indifference

This new air here troubles me

Urging me to gouge my own eyes out

Blinding me to every reality.

The fragrance hangs like poison

In rather thick decayed air

Burning my throat red.

Every breath feels like a chain

Clinging me to this ceiling

But not letting me die easily

My eyes weep gray memories.

I am a prisoner of my own making

Trapped in this house of sorrows

The darkness within matches the

gloom without

Here walls offer me no warmth

Just some cold icy disdain.

I sense walls growing closer to other

Taking a chance to have me all

The ceiling looming low

Doors opening to nowhere

I suffocate in the closing space

And ponder how homes transform to a tomb.

In a rush to find who I am within,

I’ve overlooked the comfort of where I’ve been.