House

I’m leaving that house and my fingerprints on the door,
I want the crime scene investigators to think they’ve discovered something
When you finally die of irresponsibility
In your maintenance, beauty and care.
Your shallow walls won’t stop from crumbling
And your crooked windows are begging for a rogue pebble.

Shallow walls and crooked windows can’t fly in the market pool anymore.
My hand makes no hesitation as it swallows a fist full of doorknob and twists.
Twists like a perfect red licorice, twists…
like there’s no tomorrow.
And the door swings open swiftly,
Several muscles worth of force behind the gentle punch
of fresh air.