Glass House

Some wind gust must’ve spit a rock at the clear delicacy of those walls.
Each snub making the air colder, causing a spidering crack to build intricate patterns.
We can all see them – those webs.
Deceit isn’t invisible, it shimmers in the moon’s light.
I shudder from the chills of a home harboring memories of falsehood instead of joy.
The echoes of laughter in those halls have long silenced.
Even the pictures proclaim the secrets, tilting on their hooks – some even crashing to the floor.
They know, they whisper.
Prayers no longer formed on lips dirtied by infidelity.
Weatherman forecasts ever-increasing forces will blow.
And I? I’m seeking shelter elsewhere.

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