Poem -
Family Matters
In the attic, above wooden floor,
through the hallway of psychotic, locks upon my door,
near the broken window and glass of the sore,
hiding in the shadows,
bloodstains on the wall.
Number nine,
house at the end of the street,
where lights are low,
where silent never sleep.
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Comments
eerie atmospheric great x
Thanks!
Many thanks Rachel!