A glass house
With cracks
Fractured and gleaming silver
Like threads of glitter
And the promise that it will
Shatter
Where I spend most of my time
My house, my home
Down long hallways
Unable to catch light, ironically
Dark
Empty and changing
With a blind guide, in worn shoes
372 rooms
For anti-heroes
For
Angry
Sarcastic
Teens
For bitter divorcees
For juggling lawyers
For Leather clad candy stripers
And glitter dusted love interests
To perform
A library for dramatic license
An attic
To keep the enraged watchmen
Who remains
Perched on weakened rafters
To keep an imprecise tally
Of the ticking
Below
Buried
Beneath the houses weight
His Brother
In the Basement
Entertains un-welcomed guests
Who sneak in
Through unguarded points of
Entry
The windows of closed doors
A kitchen
For when the mad hatter comes
To breakfast
And we throw stones
Together
