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Before my house’s basement was finished, It was a barren concrete playground, For my imagination to mold. Silver lined walls got punctured and distorted,
One Night turns to six, six turns to thirty, thirty turns to ninety a sleepover turns into three months in a basement. A look in the mirror you see your clothes shrink.
There was once a boy, in the 1700s who survived in his house's basement. Stuck he was, for the sadness exhausted his will to go out side. His mother too, for she was distraught at the idea of bearing a 'mad' son.
This is more of a trial than you might think (The mother in law comes to the salon first) The area closest to the church can be dangerous for anyone. It happened year after year Sort of like on purpose The two dead dogs  In the street outside my w
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