The story of that (empty) house


This house,

no, THAT house

held many things.
In it’s wall grew

a tangle of thoughts, emotions, musings wanderings,

knotted together with desire, hope, love and courage

decaying with anger, misunderstanding, insecurity and indifference
This house,

no, THAT house

was built on a strong

yet unsteady foundation

of fascination
That house (yes, I’ve learnt it now)

burned down with anger.

Bellowing flames

pouring out of tiny windows.

The smoke rose in great, dense clouds

roared and flared

light bulbs exploded,

windows shattered

doors burst open

in and out

in and out.


The occupants inside singed their throats with their screaming.

Burnt their hands with their clawing, their frustration, their anger.
Huffed and Puffed

and blew THAT house

All the while the fire raged on

(simmered, then raged, then simmered, then had to be kindled)
And one day

the fire died

(as all fires usually do)
And there was nothing but a quiet creaking house, swaying in the wind.
Lonely on a hill



The one weeps

for tangled thoughts

and knotted words

and buried hopes

and heavy silences that stretch

the damp walls of an insane house

with no occupants

except one crazy heart

and one reluctant fool

who leaves and returns

with nothing on that tongue

but caution and lust.

The one weeps
For these crazy occupants

with tangled emotions

and knotted words

who neither love nor hate

Nor stand nor sit

who hover somewhere

between heaven and hell
The one walks through the house

Running fingers over peeling wallpaper

Inspects burnt floorboards

Stopping to listen

to creaking eaves

rustles in the attic

a faint voice of the imagination,

runs a finger over dust on the mantelpiece

sits on the floor,

for the blood-stained floor

the splintered drawers

of past-battles

the notes etched in the walls

the whispers hanging in the rafters

the sighs pressed against the windows
The house groans

waiting to fall

waiting for the one to walk out

and shut the door behind

so that it may collapse


as if it had never existed

as if the walls did not hold stories

as if the rooms did not hold thoughts

as if the ceilings did not hold secrets

as if the carpets did not hold pain

as if the house did not hold love
As if it had never existed.

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