Out of a town, on a quiet road
Which is named Terminal
Lies a humble abode
Which many think isn't real
The house stands
Decayed, broken
On overgrown lands
Where nary a whisper's spoken
Inside fares worse still
A shattered table and chair
Upon which lie ancient letters and bills
A wall coated in blood and hair
The stairs now going down
The wallpaper is peeling
Almost...making a frown
At the new coating that's sealing
In the upstairs hall
Everything is crumbling
It appears it will fall
Like a throat collapsing
The bedroom's painted
A beautiful crimson
Though it is tainted
By fragments thrown without reason
A singular rope sways
Showing signs of tear
Inviting to end your days
Which to resist is rare
Out of a town, on a quiet road
Which is named Terminal
The sight is one to behold
Where a many free themself
YOU ARE READING
That Man's Musings
Random[Temporary Cover] This is a collection of poems I write, as well as maybe memoirs and other things. Sorry, no real description here =P
