The House In My Mind
The House in My Mind — stream-of-consciousness poem below.
My mind is a house, forgotten and torn,
With floorboards that creak and hallways worn.
I stay in the room that could’ve been mine,
But the bed’s too neat, and the windows shine.
I don’t explore—there’s nothing to gain.
Just shadows that echo my childhood pain.
I don’t know who hides more in the seams:
The monsters I built or the ghost of my dreams.
Sometimes, when silence tiptoes through,
I press my ear like children do.
And I wait for footsteps to reach the door,
For someone I loved—who isn’t there anymore.
Maybe it’s Dad.
But I wouldn’t know.
He smelled like gas,
Worked down below—
Engines and gears, and hands with grime.
I hope he loved me… once, in time.
Maybe my mother.
But I’m not her toy.
I’m far too tall to play that ploy.
She left me posed upon a shelf,
A quiet doll who spoke herself.
I lean in close,
Splinters bite.
My cheek is dusted
In cracked-off white.
The tears? They're old. The streaks are dry.
But still, I look. And still, I try.
Maybe my pappy.
He would’ve come.
He always smiled. He’d never run.
But I know better. I know the scene.
That morning still lives inside my scream.
He laid so still. I called his name.
I thought at first he played a game.
But silence answered, cold and rough—
And being dead was hurt enough.
I hold my breath. The steps draw near.
I’ve wished so hard for someone dear.
I look. I hope. I dare believe—
That maybe love won't always leave.
But through the keyhole, shadows bend.
And there’s no hand. There’s no old friend.
Just something twisted, dark and deep,
That knows the promises I keep.
It knows my name. It wears my face.
The worst of me, in warped embrace.
It wants my heart. The final prize.
The last bright thing behind my eyes.
I always knew it ends like this.
No song, no dance, no parting kiss.
No comfort scene. No sweet goodnight.
Just me, and what I chose to fight.
It’s not a scream. It’s not a cry.
It’s just the moment hope runs dry.
So when it finds me—don't ask why.
Just understand:
this is the way I die.
The House in My Mind — stream-of-consciousness poem below.
My mind is a house, forgotten and torn,
With floorboards that creak and hallways worn.
I stay in the room that could’ve been mine,
But the bed’s too neat, and the windows shine.
I don’t explore—there’s nothing to gain.
Just shadows that echo my childhood pain.
I don’t know who hides more in the seams:
The monsters I built or the ghost of my dreams.
Sometimes, when silence tiptoes through,
I press my ear like children do.
And I wait for footsteps to reach the door,
For someone I loved—who isn’t there anymore.
Maybe it’s Dad.
But I wouldn’t know.
He smelled like gas,
Worked down below—
Engines and gears, and hands with grime.
I hope he loved me… once, in time.
Maybe my mother.
But I’m not her toy.
I’m far too tall to play that ploy.
She left me posed upon a shelf,
A quiet doll who spoke herself.
I lean in close,
Splinters bite.
My cheek is dusted
In cracked-off white.
The tears? They're old. The streaks are dry.
But still, I look. And still, I try.
Maybe my pappy.
He would’ve come.
He always smiled. He’d never run.
But I know better. I know the scene.
That morning still lives inside my scream.
He laid so still. I called his name.
I thought at first he played a game.
But silence answered, cold and rough—
And being dead was hurt enough.
I hold my breath. The steps draw near.
I’ve wished so hard for someone dear.
I look. I hope. I dare believe—
That maybe love won't always leave.
But through the keyhole, shadows bend.
And there’s no hand. There’s no old friend.
Just something twisted, dark and deep,
That knows the promises I keep.
It knows my name. It wears my face.
The worst of me, in warped embrace.
It wants my heart. The final prize.
The last bright thing behind my eyes.
I always knew it ends like this.
No song, no dance, no parting kiss.
No comfort scene. No sweet goodnight.
Just me, and what I chose to fight.
It’s not a scream. It’s not a cry.
It’s just the moment hope runs dry.
So when it finds me—don't ask why.
Just understand:
this is the way I die.