The House

This house I know deep in my soul. What does it want? I do not know.

Sometimes, it appears exactly the same. Other times, changing, completely rearranged.

In appearance only, it is walls and doors... Windows, carpets, pictures, and floors.

But no.

There is no place in the waking world where it exists. It is not sitting, waiting, for a fleshy guest. The labyrinth of my mind is what it knows best. Always awaiting, eager for my rest.

This house I know deep in my soul? It is made of the fibers that create my being. Nothing is beyond its seeing.

The rooms are made of joy and pain; emotions, presenting themselves as physical things.

Each night I'm brought to its front steps, I never know what to expect.

Will this visit bring hope or fear? Who are the guests who are staying here? Waiting for me to close my eyes to show themselves in their disguise.

The only thing I know for sure?

My visits here are not a choice, for this houses walls are much stronger and louder than that of my waking voice.

Forgive me now, I must stop this speech. My eyes grow heavy, and I must sleep. But just before I drift away, a panic flares just out of reach.

Something sinister is lurking near...

Goodnight, my dear. I'll see you there.