The House That Wrote Me

my childhood home, or where it was...



Lying on my father's giant bed
Bare scrolled ceiling
Knots and tree rings
Sketch beasts and naked maidens

Under living shade
Air thick with pine pitch
Cool, concrete steps
Touch a wall with no door

Talking floors and whining walls
Ghosts of long past roam
Features with creatures
On the snowy television

Black body, red hourglass
Bulging bumbles buzzing
Arthropods under rocks
Aiming predatory tails

Exposed heater once burnt
Exposed wires once shocked
Exposed nail once impaled
And a long fall from the roof

First love for sister's friend
First misery of endless sick
First mourn of mother's passing
Woke fearful fantastic dreams

The magic house that made me
I could only write the fantasy
Dark with strange danger and dread
And creatures sketched above the bed



Mama's Losin' It Prompted This

Thanks for reading, off to write!

Cheers,

Casey

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