Anger seeps from these walls

Like an open wound.

It flows through each room,

Infecting every unfortunate soul

That steps foot inside.

The unspoken tension

Lies in wait,

A stick of emotional dynamite

Ready to ignite

At the slightest inconvenience,

Ready to explode

And consume every life

Inside this house.

The tortured floors creak

With every weighted step.

With bated breath

We wait for the walls

To collapse and destroy

This place

Once and for all.

Abused lives

Walked these empty halls

An eternity ago

Looking for some part of themselves

They would never find.

Stains of footsteps

Left a decade prior

Linger on the carpet,

Waiting to be retraced

By people who no longer exist.

Tucked into the forgotten corner

Of small-town America

Is a suburban prison cell

Where the dead live and the living die,

Where dreams, like cattle,

Are born and raised for slaughter.

To survive is to escape

The gravity well

Of complacent acceptance

Present in this

Black hole

Hellscape.