This home

Its hard to wake up when there is no light in the home.
Its always haunted I cant even see through these spectrals.
If my stupid words could fix their hearts I would read it every day.
Yet the wind keeps burning leaves against my skin.
Where the words just rot and fall away its not how it should have been.
Its a lair for the damned and I have to always listen to them.
Its not right but someone has to pick up the pieces of dust.
I can hear the photographers paint a flat picture on a square.
My spiky glare is just a stare that will only glow in the lamp.
Hitched a ride onto a cause that has no applause for the restless.
Look at those vultures above this tainted home.
Making circles as if a whirlpool to suck me inside the hole.
I'm already dead left my best friends or did they just leave me?
I only wish that or is that what the realm wants us to believe?
Dead body chalk lines grease the floors forever.
Even a thousand years from now the white in the black floor show so well.
It makes no sense at all but we get along for our own release.
Where we go from there is right in any stair.
The walk is to an arcanum where we cant use our senses at all.
So make a holiday for ghostly images that are always a blur.
This home stays haunted nobody will ever find me hiding in it with them.