Stairs

Welcome to my house...

Broken bulbs and shattered windows cover the floor like a field of bayonet blades pointing towards the sky.

People pass through these halls like buisnessmen on their daily commute.

Rarely do they even glance up to realize where they are.

Mostly they stumble through the doors, and then fall out the windows, never to be seen again.


On the hundreds of stairways that end in ruins, old attempts at greatness sit with arms crossed.

They stare at their watches and sigh, wondering if I will ever return to these abandoned passages.


The living room now sits empty.

close friends have long since found better ways to occupy their time.

And the television blurts out a recycled routine that seems impossible to break free from.



Love songs were composed in this kitchen.

Lies were the broom that cleaned up the messes I made for myself.

And far too often they burst into flames before my very eyes.


The bedrooms are all vacant and dark.

The showers are still damp from washing my guilt away.

And the sun is setting below the mantle which held knit socks called hope.



Now that i'm leaving this house, I realize that It's darker and more barren then I ever realized.

For even as death forecloses on it, and its windows are boarded up with a coffin,
I wonder where all those stairs would have led if I had only finished them.