The house

I’m trapped in this house. A house I hate. The bricks are crumbling. The door  inconsistently open.
All things are welcome. Good and bad.
All things are banished. Bad and good.
And if you find your self anywhere in between, who the hell knows? could be open. Could be closed. Could be somewhere in between.
The door may be decorated. Inviting. Or it could be strategically left unlocked. The smell of lust and adrenaline seeping out of the cracks. Tempting those who are near. Victims of this fucking house. This evil ugly house. Masked with the blood of its victims. Myself included.
I want nothing more than to watch that house burn. Turn into dust. Become the wind. The air. Complete the cycle. Purified. Reborn. Cleansed of all things filthy.

A girl can only dream..

Some days I walk out of the door. Temporarily free. Not giving a shit about the house or anyone who’s ever lived there. But I am weak and can’t sustain my existence outside of these roach infested walls. So I come back.
One day it’s going to burn. It has to.

Should I be worried that I don’t care where I am when it’s consumed by flames?

Outside, front row. Inside, part of the show. No matter

It has to go..

 

 

 

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