335 of 486

by lunameow

I watch, helpless,
as the house crashes
down around me.
Piles of fallen bricks
block my way to other rooms,
but to path to the door is clear.

I could leave.

But once I walk through the door,
the house will be gone.
I won't be able to come back.
And I don't know what's
beyond the door.

But I could leave.

I slowly make my way
through the rubble and,
with my hand on the doorknob,
I turn to look back at my house.
Everything I know is here,
Buried under the debris.

With a heavy sigh,
I let my hand fall from the knob,
and I pick up a single brick,
and begin to slowly rebuild.

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Poetry: Suicide

by lunameow

Poetry: Suicide

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