21 Washington Road
The bathtub is full of bees waiting expectantly
for the honey to flow forth from the faucet.
The bed has long since burned away
the burning passion of who we were together,
and our life beneath the sheets.
The doorknob has become a snake
that will bite the hand that feeds and the hand that fights,
just always fighting.
The house is retreating back into the forests to be repainted with mold and life and death and the cycle that we all must abide by,
even though I wish I mustn’t.
The god you pray to wont solace me,
but I can’t bring myself to tell you to stop trying.
Pray harder,
then at least one will be happy.