On the corner of Broken Boulevard and Torn Street, There is a boy who lives in a house that is tearing at the seams. Painted with separation and in a space too small for its frame, its lone inhabitant rips his hair out, tears out his tongue; plagued by the noisy insides, a mixture of lies and truth, boundaries and limits, life and death.
He is in a constant cycle, screaming at his oppressor, yet holding the hands of the supposed ‘benevolent comrade’. He’s secretly being betrayed by his allies, chief of them all, himself. Always looking for his foes in the wrong places, unwilling to look inside to the deep parts, scared to acknowledge what he’s known on an sub-atomic level for forever.
The person he’s been looking for is locked away.
He’s forgotten the password, thrown out the key. He’s in a constant process of forgetting the combination, hiring new locksmiths to change the locks.
Its a constant funeral.
He is drenched in black, dressed in tar. Heads bowed and eyes closed shut, unwilling to see his own reflection. He had the mirrors in the removed. Even his reflection in a spoon is haunting.
Tombstones line the property, making a decrepit fence of grey, ashe and marble.
Its a beautiful, secret. An unseen, mysterious sight.
The kids ride by on their bikes, staring in amazement and horror. They want a glimpse of what’s happening inside. Parents chastise their offspring, warning them to stay away from ‘that place.’
The property records are blank.
City officials are called and come knocking at the door, but the bank statements are flush so they’re hushed. And yet, its resident is still there. In a forever cycle of forever.
Forever here then forever there. Forever doom and forever gloom.
In the spring, a landscaping company plant lilies in the yard. Yet, by the morn’ they are grey like the rest of the place. The scent, fear, is gripping. It tells a tale of a soul whose eyes have been gouged, bones have been broken and hearing is lost.
He lived with love at one time.
He was young at one time.
He skin was vibrant, glowing, a deep chocolate brown.
His heart raced with something new, pure, gold.
But then in a single night, his life changed.
The once beautiful home, the talk of the town, became the frown of the crowds.
It was labeled a abyss of death. Dogs left what they were sent to fetch when it landed there. And yet, inside, its inhabitant longed for someone to knock at the door. To show some tender love and care.
He grew tired of the stares and being the last round of children's ‘truth or dare’. So one day, the house’ lone resident disappeared.
There was no more rustle or bustle or complaints or grey in this awkward space.
The city came and tore it down — some new high-rise condo was built in its place, but like any giant, it’s shadow lingers after its gone.
A poem from my blog Shapes, Blanks and Spaces.