Skip to content

The Darkhouse

August 7, 2013

By Sean Michael, 2012


The floor is dirty, the electricity doesn’t work.
The fridge is empty–my stomach hurts.
I can hear the chatter of mice as they scurry through the walls,
The toxic laughter seeping down the hall.
Where is everybody?
Trodding with the devil,
In the next room getting loaded.

Ensconced with fragile dreams,
My sister’s body trembles next to me.
She’s cold–I cover her with my coat.

I still remember the darkhouse;
Fiends crusading through, sails at full mast.
They smile grotesquely on their way to the next room,
Shuffling through the dust,
The steadily crumbling dreams.
Sometimes they notice us,
But nobody pays much attention.

In the near silence I listen:
Evanescent hopes…
Withering smiles…
To the oracle of a cold and lonely place,
As I try to fall asleep on the hardwood floor.


From → BLOG, Poetry

Leave a Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: