A house once filled with quiet,
by Dakota Ellerton
that could echo off the walls, the windows.
Now filled with high shrieks that send shivers down the spine,
that make your ears curls in.
Two little children played on the shinning hardwood floors,
now they are scuffed up with stickers and marks.
A bathtub that used to hold bubbles,
now holds insecurities.
So much has changed since childhood,
not only the reflection in the mirror,
but the hands I bare.
They shimmer with pain and guilt,
lies and cruelty.
No longer mud pies,
The hall is no longer walked by a tall man,
whom I idolized.
The deck was once new,
when my parents had built it.
It had that fresh paint smell,
now it's rotting.
It couldn't survive the weather,
or a crazed woman smashing the boards.
The yard no longer sparkles,
when the sun hits every blade of grass.
It's almost like an entirley new place,
The yelling and the fighting,
the rules to be broken,
I could sit up stairs for hours popping pills,
and never be noticed.
Well, maybe thing's haven't changed that much.