Her house isn’t her home

A Poem by Chels

I found a first sentence generator to help inspire a piece. The title, "The house wasn't the same to her anymore," was the sentence that I received from the generator.

Her house isn't home to her anymore... it's more of a prison that holds her in to be smothered down in the heavy weight of a tormented love. Where the enticing smell of a warm embrace greets her passionately with the overwhelming asphyxiation of berating questions. Where trust is expunged from her words, wiped away by whiskey and the addiction of impetuous beliefs.

The foundation of her home is now cracked and worn, the aggrandizing fractures

climbing up into the support beams, threatening to make it all crumble around her. The fiendish termites of ravenous jealousy eating away at the walls, allowing the harsh bitterness of what was once love to seep in and wrap its slender, cold fingers around her ankles, pulling her further and further down in a void of complete darkness.

No, her house is no longer a home to her. It is no longer a place where she can lie her head and sleep blissfully at night, snuggled warmly next to someone her loves her more than anyone ever could. It is no longer a place that greets her warmly with a radiant smile and a gentle kiss. No longer is it a safe haven, a protective barrier from the harsh idealizing world.

Her home is tomb commemorating what once was, but emphasizing what now is.

Her house isn't a home to her anymore...