I am the stranger in my house

This wretched run-down shack

This hovel with pests and peeling paint

and dirt floors from front to back

Shards of glass from long broken windows

Litter the furniture and floors

But I never bother to sweep them up

Cause it’s not my house anymore

Dried blood stains the ceiling and corners

There’s no love or light in this place

The cold and dark have befriended me now

In the thick is where I feel most safe

So I spend my nights in this tomb of a closet

While this house crumbles brick by brick

Chased into hiding by a rogue of a man

Who stole my soul and then buried it

This hair that brushes my bony shoulders

It’s not my hair anymore

These swollen lips and eyes and thighs

They are not mine anymore

These once voluptuous breasts and hips

And legs which once walked with no limp

They haven’t been mine for a very long time

They now belong to him

And I suppose that I should fault myself

For gifting him the deed and the keys

When he had long showed that I was not his concern

That, like my house, he held no favor for me

But I guess in life you live and learn

If you don’t perish before you do

I never learned how to save myself

Now I wait for death’s rescue

Sadly,

I am the stranger in my own house

And my welcome is rather worn

I hope death frees me swiftly and softly

Before this house is finally leveled by his storm