This House I Built: Part One

"I AM HOME"

Awake beneath a hollow roof

a slanted world not mine.

Lacy frills and gaping frames

exposed and tied to thine.

~

Night or day, gaze through my pane,

a fleshy prize from silent eyes.

Sleeping sweet, I writhe and churn,

a private space of lies.

~

Sit down last, once all is boiled

fruit of hands not mine await.

I rise, I knead, again. Again.

Dark stone has set this fate.

~

Pink paint palled – re hearse ing lines

my golden facets singing.

Below, silence glides a velvet glove.

Above, forgotten scattered beams.

~

Roots of blooming orchid ripped,

their taunting colors blind.

Scant is greener grass. Withering,

unrooted and confined.

~

Arranged among their furniture,

I carve myself into the oak.

Only moved for dusting,

I am the quiet. Forever. Home.

“First Breath”

Wooden limbs creak

splintered and dull.

Veiled are the strings that waltz and scream.

~

What a doll!

She’s perfect. Painted on

smile. Rotted limbs. Creepy crawl. Nightfall.

~

Sawdust tears.

Mind’s eye quiet.

Stitched is the voice, into delicate pillows.

~

Nails in my neck

screws down my spine,

stripped and weathered. Tangled. Twined.

~

Unbearably taut.

Frozen mid-air.

Ripped at the hem – a stretch just too far.

~

Holding the pose

Crack! Splinter! Snap!

Darkness above, the thread of me below…

~

…collide.

What was that?

Softer than silence – I shatter to pieces.

~

Dust flutters down.

Bits in the air.

I’m broken. Free. Naked – no strings.

~

I can’t unsee

what’s nailed in me.

Misery and planks bound. Confined me.

~

Only fraying ends.

A giant white hand –

empty, unsure – as I release my first breath.

"VIRGIN"

An iron horizon sends for me

Empty roads. Heavy feet.

Beyond black skies, I know not what lies.

Perhaps more pain. Or maybe…

~

Howls and shrieks serenade the air

Step after step – wild. Alone. Feral.

Heavens now heather, forest line tethered.

Perhaps more tears, or maybe just pain.

~

The thick wood nears, inviting me in.

Bright rays of light speak to my skin.

Umber arms open, vivid shrubs singing.

Perhaps dark prevails, or just maybe…

~

Bird song above in the tangled canopy.

Branches crack. Scrape. Insanity?

I drink from the river. Mud on my face.

Is this the place? Maybe…

~

Emerging from brush, sun glistens soft

Dirt falls away, the wind whispers my name.

I close my eyes. Clench my fists.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Step into the mist.