House of Lies

It's dark and you're running

from something you can't see.

 

You run through nice neighborhoods

and inprint their manicured lawns

with your size 11 shoe.

 

The woods nearby prove prickly

but you continue through the thorns.

 

After pulling the teeth out of your now

bare feet, you bleed

into a spillway.

 

The sludge impregnantes your open wounds,

as you crawl to what you think is safety.

 

But at the end of the spillway

there is no love, no smiling faces,

and no bright light.

 

Just a small bed in a large house of lies.

Reviews

[Sel Whiteley]

This is a very powerful poem. The images say so much, a great write.

[Rain]

Very descriptive. Though I don't think the 'with your size 11 shoe' bit should be in there. ruins the flow and rhythm of the poem.

Nice job