The only help I get from my parents is
“I told you so”
Not nearly enough.
So I sweep the crumbs
Under the rugs
For the mice that live in our walls.
THEY listen but offer only scratches
in winter.
And I don’t speak in creaks.
The sagging floor in the bathroom begs me
not to step on it.
So I put a dirty towel down to muffle
it's screaming.
One day it will let go,
and I will fall through
landing in the crawl space
with no money to help it see us through
another hundred years.
Yes, our house has a birthday coming,
that centennial age.
If these walls could talk I’m sure they’d say
“I told you so” too.
Escape! Escape! They’d yell now.
I know! I know!
I want to, I will…
but…money…
It’s never there when you need it.
About the Creator
Amanda Lyons
Eclectic stream of consciousness and dark surrealism. What photography does for life I do for thought, emotions, and experiences. The genres can range from romance to horror but my favorite is suspense.
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More stories from Amanda Lyons and writers in Poets and other communities.
Pearl
1980 something. we all hung out at Pearl and you and i were nothing special, or so i thought. i mean we all danced, drenched in our own sweat, our own saline solution of fear, too many beers, shots, laughter, tears, fucks in the bathroom and i don't know when we began to be afraid. do you?
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Wow, evokes everything about how tough it must’ve been. And you can feel the length of 100 years. Almost inconceivable!