If walls could talk

a, sort of, song

Her eyes dart to the corner
Searching for the door
Trying to escape this place
Forgetting what she’d come for

An older woman blocked her view
Though there wasn’t much to see
A lazy pile of moldy books
An undrunk glass of tea

The speckled dog lay calmly
For now, at his appointed post
Pretending to be unamused
But the slightest sound a ghost

The little boy looked out of place
Shading his book with crayon
The dusty dusky light was dim
His shirt stained and rayon

She gulped in her breath
Painful as it went through
Her body holding on each time
In case it all was true

Oh she’s not getting out of here
No further will she roam
This stinking piece of shit
Is now her fucking home

The lady of the house
Wanted her to know
The name’s Ms. Mary Beth
And she will run this show

“Shape up my dear
You’re not shipping out
You belong here now,
No need to moan or pout”

“Don’t question me
And say few words
Unless your silence you want
watched over by the birds”

Oh she’s not get outta here
No further will she roam
This stinking piece of shit
Is now her fucking home

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