Filthy Mansion
Down the alley I see the well—
beside it, a quiet distress.
A rainbow behind you shows seven colours,
yet within it you emit only grey.
What lies inside you?
Do those shattered windows tell a story no one knows,
or are your walls themselves stained
with a tale no one dares to hear?
Those withered flowers seem to hold a promise—
unless they were buried
for someone who could never keep one.
The fog that surrounds you
seems to isolate the world,
but never you.
You look almost royal;
no wonder you have no kin.
You understand blood too well—
its scent, its taste—
a knowledge that horrifies the soul.
Perhaps one day
I will come to clean you…
only to meet my demise.
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