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Our House
Our house is empty.
Our.
Our house.
The empty house
Where he used to be.
For years.
And years.
And years.
Our house.
I can still hear his voice.
In the kitchen
In the hallway
In my mind.
For years.
I am alone.
In an empty house.
Our empty house.
His voice
Is not alone.
It joins
The others.
The visitors.
The voices.
In my mind
For years
They have haunted me.
Jeered at me.
Taunted me.
Laughed at me.
Driven me crazy
For years.
Our house.
His voice.
He left me.
But his voice
Is still here.
In my mind.
Crazy.
In the kitchen
There are knives.
I stumble
In the hallway
To the kitchen
To retrieve my savior
To end my
Existance.
Without him
I am nothing.
His voice
Is not enough.
For years.
Alone.
In our empty house.
In the hallway
The clock
A grandfather clock
His grandfather clock
Taunts me.
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick
I’m
Tock
Leaving
Tick
You
Tock
Goodbye.
Bang.
His clock
Strikes the hour of midnight.
The alone hour.
My alone hour.
In our empty house.
Crazy.
I reach the kitchen.
The knives
Silvery sharp.
Ready to pierce my breast.
To rip my heart from its cavity.
Like he did.
When he tore my heart out.
In our house.
Goodbye.
The knife is in my hand.
My hand is shaking.
Crazy.
Why is it shaking?
Crazy.
It moves closer to my chest.
Crazy.
The tip of the blade
Is almost about to open my body
And let the blood spill out.
In my mind
The visitors whisper
They tell me
Things.
Do it.
Don’t do it.
Do it.
Don’t do it.
Do it.
I love you.
I’m leaving you.
Goodbye.
The knife plunges.
I scream.
Crazy.
Red flashes distort my vision.
The visitors get louder.
Do it.
Don’t do it.
His grandfather clock bangs.
Bang.
Tick.
Tock.
Bang.
Tick.
Tock.
Bang.
A howling wail mixes in with the sounds.
Goodbye.
Am I making that sound?
Crazy.
Why did I do this?
Our empty house.
And it comes back.
The times of us.
When our empty house
Wasn’t empty.
When our empty house was full.
Of us.
Together.
We were joyous.
We were in love.
Crazy.
Then the visitors arrived.
One by one.
They came and checked in
To my mind.
And wouldn’t leave.
They kept coming.
They told me to do
Things.
Crazy
Things.
He got scared.
Of them.
The visitors.
And now
He is one of them.
His voice.
Joins the chorus in my head.
Their voices grow
Until my head wants to burst.
My blood is spilling
On to the floor
On to the staircase
On our staircase.
In our hallway.
In our house.
Our empty house.
The visitors grow fainter.
And begin to die.
One
By
One.
Until, his voice
Remains.
As my life falters
I hear his voice.
His voice.
His voice.
His voice.
Goodbye.
