by Writer

There’s a man in the corner watching

He sees this room for what it is

He sees the dust hidden behind the shiny golden figurines

He notices the painted over cracks in the wall

He sees it all


The smiling portraits have pain painted into their beaming faces

The blinds block out more than the sun

From the curb outside the house looks warm and inviting

The few that see through the windows find the home that they envision it to be

But the man in the corner sees it all


He sees the heavily knit folded blanket draped over the couch

The scented letters from loved ones in the cigar box in the closet

All previous words spoken and unspoken ring through the house

Nothing is as clean as it seems

But of course

The man sees it all