My house is like a prison. All the walls have differen't stories to be told, the amount of hand and footprints that are burried in every single piece of stone. The weight of dark grey colors just like the clouds in a storm, so beautiful its hurts and scares all the remaining warm souls. Quiet echoes of distant voices that run through the silent halls, yet so loud you can hear when a single angel falls.
A locked door keeping all possible secrets and lies ahold, how much I wish those bars would just fold. The massive count of things that would aflow, would make me and my blood a big piece of coal. Nothing is making me stay but I have no other place to go.
My house is like a prison. It's so incredibly safe and cold, keeping every untold story on a bookshelf like a spot of mold.
YOU ARE READING
Embers of Endurance
PoetryAn original poetry book by me. About my life and what it came to be.
