elixyrs

pink houses on the edge of Columbus streets vacant but dust and rotten weeds empty lot, I've spot no man, no mouse nobody, not even the breeze register the creaks and moans of home within so vacant but dust, floors growing thin the wood splinters, doors cave in ease red-chested robins have seen it all a haven where a family began where the hallways toddlers ran they saw the ground fall and fall and fall they watched the ceilings smother the ghosts of kids in the wall crashing and crushing picture frames and 1950s board games relapse in collapse in its own bones as the structure condemns to its knees suffocate aged memories the red-cheste

I've always been intimidated by the blank canvas Or the pure white piece of paper Feared my sinful hands would taint the void So pretty in its plain Kids cannot open the ebony envelope without ripping the edges But my melanin starved, pale Milky flesh of a clean wrist In the contrary