GamerDruid

Open wide, mouth within. Swallow whole my heart. For I choke on the viscera of this pain. Again, hands clutched with purpose, Taking away all, leaving but memory. The words can't come to me. My bones rattle with the frustration. Soul clambering to a ledge I can't climb. Every tired chord cries from another rip. My voice doesn't come. The hunger threatens to devour me whole. There is no more encouragement. No more happy smiles for success. Anger wells up from the time of loss. More still, that I'm not good enough. Filled with excuses, stopped by a laugh. A laughing clock, ticking despite it all. It did not wait then, It will not wait now, And my excuses won't stop it later. The past, now, darkly severed, I have to keep walking. Two have joined the ancestors. So soon, one after another, Leaving only memories. I bleed, but the ache doesn't leave. I will heal, but another hole has been made. I want to scream, to undo, yet, My goodbyes have to rest on the wind. I pray their purpose

Stranger, stranger, Welcome to my home. Stay a while and out of the cold. Sit by the fire, the coals still burn. I have little to give, though I know you yearn. Allow me to read from a dusty tome. It will suffice, so I am told. There are pictures of places and things, Scratchings of importance, but only for some. Time had little patience for what was to come. The trinkets on my mantles have no worth, I have nothing left to steal. I only eat what I need, and when I need it. There's hardly any left for a meal. I would stoke the fire, But it will just die quickly as we tire. There is no more wood to fuel it, My hands are no longer able to cut it. I have been burned by it, In vain, I try, always wanting it's heat. As we watch these last few coals die, I wish I was better for someone to meet. But you came, you watched, we talked. We laughed, we sang, we cried. I opened my door to let you in, But out of my home, two of you walked. It is how it is in this old place, With portraits of broken faces. Memories howling silently in the walls, Weeping of days before we lost our grace. That is how this house is, stranger. You come here with what I want, But you leave with what I need. No matter what you take, Or how I bleed, I let you in and try to be the host. But what good is it when treasures are stolen, When our feelings grow rotten. What is it worth to keep adding pictures, When no one else values my torture. This house is old, stranger, And it remembers. It has a hate deep within the timbers, Down below, flickers the eternal ember. It always threatens to alight, Furious at those who've stayed with us. But it is no longer a cause of fright. It's hatred is mired in misery and spite. There will come a time when this house burns. And no one will be around to remember. No one to have another row. None to mourn the memories. This is my house, stranger. It is broken, worn, and not fit for guests. Remember this if you stay in these halls. I don't need another portrait. I don't need another memory of loss.