The House With No Doors

There is a place, not far, not near,

Where love grows teeth and feeds on fear.

A garden raised from whispered lies,

Where every bloom disguises cries.

I trusted the sky there, wide and clear,

Never thinking the storm lived here.

A hand I knew, a voice I praised,

Turned suddenly and left me dazed.

It wasn’t a brush, nor just a shove,

It was war dressed in the skin of love.

All his weight, all his wrath,

Unleashed like a flood across my path.

The air grew heavy, sharp with dread,

Each word a blade, each silence said

That something sacred had been torn,

A fragile peace no longer worn.

I ran for the edge, the door, the light,

Chasing the promise of open flight.

But the keeper of keys stood in my way,

Her shadow swallowing up the day.

“Stay,” she breathed with a burning stare,

Fire and fury thick in the air.

Her hands spelled out what lips concealed,

Promises meant to keep me sealed.

She shattered what little of me remained,

Not bone, but the soul she once had named.

The parts of me she swore to adore

Lay scattered like glass upon the floor.

She told me leaving was betrayal, a crime,

A theft of loyalty, a theft of time.

Her words were chains dressed up as care,

Soft as silk but strong as despair.

So here I sit in a house of stone,

Crowded with ghosts yet utterly alone.

The walls remember, they whisper still

Of every broken dream and will.

They hum with echoes late at night,

Repeating scenes I cannot rewrite.

Footsteps linger where none now tread,

The living silence filled with the dead.

I paint my pain in metaphor,

Each verse a crack along the floor.

A silent scream the lines conceal,

A language only wounds can feel.

And those who read will pause and guess

At shadows wrapped in tenderness.

They’ll wonder what cruel hand could do

The things these quiet verses knew.

But I will not speak, I will not confess.

Let mystery haunt the emptiness.

Let questions wander through the dark,

Like restless wolves without a mark.

Just know that monsters rarely hide

In forests deep or oceans wide.

Sometimes they stand within your door,

Smiling faces you adored before.

They laugh, they comfort, they play their part,

While slowly hollowing out your heart.

And when they leave, they leave no scar—

Just quiet ruins of who you are.