Bad home
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Click, running from the light
Behind the paintings, and up the wall
Like Peter Pan’s shadow
Making my skin crawl.
the smell of lemon and honeysuckle
is overbearing in this home
built from dark woods
and fresh fire, soft light.
a cat skitters along the dark
The teacher says write,
So I write.
But I don't really want to.
I want to play in the street
In the night
While the roar of the city
Drowns out the cries of the lost and the weary.
