That almond chipped door across the lawn from me,
Holds so many vague memories.
What's behind the door is more than bubble gum dreams,
Rot and filth and insects as far as the eye can see.
Poppy grand growing out of cracks and sand in me.
The birds swoop down at me,
Out for blood and bone they sink like lead.
I'll hide underneath the pine tree,
They sit atop waiting for me with a fixed coordinate on my head.