THE HOUSE

a re-occuring dream
seems to haunt me
a house
of beauty
with amenities
so vast
they take my breath away

the problem is
the underlying decay
for what this house seems
so vivid in my dreams
leaves me cold
the house is so old

a museum piece
to say the very least
as i climb its' stairs
i must beware
i feel a chill
i try to still
my racing heart

the fear is so real
what the house conceals
is sardonic
and evil
it laughs at me
this hypocricy
of a house so inviting

my silent screams
in my dreams
never wake me up
i must climb up
so that i may sup

with evil, in the attic
it's an elegant room
with a feeling of gloom
just like a tomb
it makes my skin crawl
my senses attuned
to the impending doom

i reason:
i must find a way
to wake up this day
or else my escape
might be too late

i smell the sweet rose
of death in my nose
i wake up soaking wet
my mind tries to set
the scenes of regret
in proper order

this has been done
so many times
i run out of lines
to describe it
i just have to say
i must find a way
to escape
my re-ocurring dream