A pin drops in an empty room,
Spiders scatter like demons.
Another home painted bare,
Another black ghosts
Lonely, vacant stare.
A house that echoes,
But never talks…
Still, around every corner
Silent, secrets knock.
A mad house, some called it,
So it was condemned
too soon.
I had so much hope
That got lost
In that one safe room.
a.l.c
online at: https://pouringtruth.wordpress.com/
I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out... View more posts
