I can remember what it was like in my heyday.
I stood tall. I stood confidently.
I remember their laughter in my walls.
There were nights when the rain fell hard.
My ceiling hovered over them, keeping them safe.
As they lay snug in their beds.
But that was in my heyday…
Now I barely stand in this shame-day
I can still hear their screams scratched into my walls
As I hopelessly stood there
Four days before (Christmas)
Four of them, no more.
Shame and smoldering ashes scar my remaining walls.
Shame on you.
Your curiosity (does not kill cats.)
But it kills me
I’m no tourist attraction.
It’s been three days.
And you still drive by – like my rubble is your highlight.
What for? To add to your “table talk over Christmas”
To those who have placed flowers and prayers at my palisades.
I thank you.
For a brief moment they masquerade the mourning.
Can’t even call…
Because the line is destroyed.
Besides, no one would pick up.
Rest in peace.
I notice them houses around me
The laughter and excitement of Christmas
Echo through their walls.