Little house with four walls -

all lit up with smoke

two inches from freedom -

six inches back

Traped

the past will haunt  each room

No way to escape

while letters find a home-

in the pages before me

Warm liquor soothes my soul

smoke rises collapsing my lungs-

Little white house all dressed up nice

What's inside- nothing but fire in ice

Words or lies line the hallways in blood

Drip down across the marble floors

Illusion - is the picture of this home

roses bloom gracefully beyond the trap doors

Little house on the left

You scream at night

When the world is dead

By morning the windows are open-

tears turn to salt

So perfect and white

No one would notice anything at all

.k