I just want to clear this up, this poem was made on the First which I posted on my Facebook. The poem came before "Scabs" I think it isn't that good though, but it shows that I'm keeping my poem a day promise!
Haunted House:
Push open the creaky
wooden gate;
the haunting sound of the creak, everyone disliked.
Walk along the garden path towards the front porch,
never straying, it’s improper to stray from any path.
Walk carefully up the wooden steps, stepping over
the fourth, which caved into a black bottomless abyss
outlined by spider webs tangling where corners used to be.
Touch the rusty door knob and turn it gently,
say “please” before opening the door fully.
Walk in, flick on the switch to the right,
no light nor warmth.
Caress gently with hands across the wall,
keep eyes down looking for any stray objects
that may make someone fall
like the yellow Tonka truck,
never put away properly after playtime.
Circle the first floor of the two-story house,
the smell of dust and mould causes sneezing,
achoo-achoo-achoo, no bless you.
Walk into the Kitchen, unwashed dishes piled high,
with food a rat wouldn’t even touch.
Glide the hands over the cheap wallpaper
to the broken glass, remains of a patio door.
Outside on the small deck, on furnished wood floor,
a bloodstains that’ll never wash away.
Leave the kitchen, and walk up the steps.
They creak and moan, like any other haunted house.
Eyes adjusts to the dark,
assorted women’s clothes left scattered in a hallway,
and at the top of the stairs a luggage bag, forgotten.
Reminder, you don’t need to run.
the haunting sound of the creak, everyone disliked.
Walk along the garden path towards the front porch,
never straying, it’s improper to stray from any path.
Walk carefully up the wooden steps, stepping over
the fourth, which caved into a black bottomless abyss
outlined by spider webs tangling where corners used to be.
Touch the rusty door knob and turn it gently,
say “please” before opening the door fully.
Walk in, flick on the switch to the right,
no light nor warmth.
Caress gently with hands across the wall,
keep eyes down looking for any stray objects
that may make someone fall
like the yellow Tonka truck,
never put away properly after playtime.
Circle the first floor of the two-story house,
the smell of dust and mould causes sneezing,
achoo-achoo-achoo, no bless you.
Walk into the Kitchen, unwashed dishes piled high,
with food a rat wouldn’t even touch.
Glide the hands over the cheap wallpaper
to the broken glass, remains of a patio door.
Outside on the small deck, on furnished wood floor,
a bloodstains that’ll never wash away.
Leave the kitchen, and walk up the steps.
They creak and moan, like any other haunted house.
Eyes adjusts to the dark,
assorted women’s clothes left scattered in a hallway,
and at the top of the stairs a luggage bag, forgotten.
Reminder, you don’t need to run.
Follow the trail of clothes, pushing them aside with feet.
Into the bedroom, the heart all houses.
The room reeks of old and cheap perfume,
bottles broken and shattered by the nightstand.
The bed broken and caves in the middle, broken by force.
Scattered items used to be on the dresser
fallen to the floor, prickling feet, a last warning
before reaching the bedside table.
Hands start to shake, reaching out,
flipping the wedding photo face down.
It’s okay to shake, it’s okay to sit down,
take time, grab everything, and this time don’t forget
the luggage bag.
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