House on the Hill

House on the Hill
By AJ O’Brien.

Brown dust feeding
upon a house of red,
grotesque puncture marks
longing to be fed.

Injecting a land of sorrows
until they fell and bled,
searching their memories
for someone dead.

Steel pointed daggers
piercing within a lonely room,
little blue tunnels collapsing
the end is coming soon.

White dust black rust
jack up and see,
and bathe in an ocean
of a killer’s reality.

28 thoughts on “House on the Hill”

  1. So sad for sure, and you have captured the pain of it all. I have seen the destruction of drug addiction in a neighbor and two distant family members. I think how it could happen to anyone of us if a different decision was made on what door to go through, or road to travel on. Sometimes you just don’t know when you choose. This poem is really good Alan.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. So sad…the life of a drug addict (how I interpret it, anyway). I don’t know how it is in your country, Alan, but here, drug addiction is an epidemic rivaling Covid. So many lost souls, so many wasted lives. Your poem is wonderful, yet as dark as the pits of hell. Excellent. 🖤

    Liked by 1 person

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