The walls of my house seem to be growing ever bigger.
Expanding,
With every secret I tell
The halls ever lengthening,
With every lie I whisper to myself.
My house has become a maze.
Cathedral ceilings
And
Twisting paths that lead back upon themselves
Loops of thought entangled with regret.
My house has forgotten me,
She no longer welcomes me,
There is no squeak of greeting
When I reach the front porch steps.
She does not sing me to sleep on windy nights
With the cries of her ancient bones
That tremble at their foundations.
She is not the same.
My iniquities have changed her.
Molding her into a palace of propaganda
Not fit for any queen.
And I am left to wander,
Getting lost on my way to the stove,
Or to answer the telephone that has long since stopped ringing.
I roam, without destination,
Without end,
Through the glass and wooden prison
Of my own design.