My House

I have built a house From bits and pieces Of my broken self I wander through, In a dazed stupor, Through its bleak corridors Listening to the rusty hinges Choking on closed doors Glancing at the faded pictures Hung obstinately along its unpainted walls From its roof I have a view Of distant lights burning quietly In their pale glory My eyes chase them Strained to the utmost To catch a gleam or two In their lusterless void Only to return to the hole inside Widening ever so more Swallowing up all that remains of light But it’s my house Built from parts of me Infused with my soul So I must let it enfold me In its cold clammy hold.