Why is it that we live in a house of stone when
We're trapped in our own house of bone
No windows
No doors
Just thousands of empty corridors
While others lives are finally falling into place
We find ourselves falling on our face
As if it's an infinite race
No room for an intimate case
We lock ourselves in these stoney houses
Unaware of our spouses
Trapped in their own boney prison
The only intermission
Are the fights held in the kitchen
No these bones don't hold
So they were told
No not when you've grown old
Body decaying, covered in mold
House of stone
Prison of bone
Which, do you truly call home?
YOU ARE READING
Blind-Eyed Fool
PoésieRead with caution I guess. This is a jumble of poems that are usually kinda dark?? Idk. If you don't like descriptive gore type stuff then this probably ain't for you
