This house

I have been inside of this house
For one year and one month and three days
Brief exits here and there
A prisoner who escapes, then stays
I know this house so well
That I can hear it loudly breathing
I know every footstep from above
Below I am quietly just seething
Simmering on low, gently amazed at how
the world outside just keeps on doing what it always does
Turn the flame up high, I will boil right over
Because I know everything is exactly what it always was
All of this time has just been taken, wasted
It’s a spoonful of ugliness
shoved down my throat, but never tasted
I know every ghost in this house
better than I know my friends
I can feel it exhale exhaust
When each floorboard bends…
–leah r. chatterjee

work in progress


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