There once was a house - a very tiny small house that creaked and cracked from the doors to the roof.

The tiny house ached and pained for life, it had been empty for such a long time.

In this house - this very tiny small house was the echo of the past that marked this house like an angry scar.

On the street it sat there lonely and bare - no life inside, nobody dared.

The house that was a home now crumbled at its bones, now empty and desolate it sat there alone.

There once was a house - a very tiny small house that no longer had light, the darkness encompassed it more night after night.

Memories of the past never moving away, the house had no choice but to let them stay.

The darkness crept into the walls, it seeped into the paint - it crawled through the floorboards from space to space.

Like a snake it slithered from room to room, tighten its grip on what was once a home.

Memories dark and twisted from their tragic end, bitter souls not moving on to what was next.

Instead, it stayed in the house to rot inside out, venom spewing from the memories mouths.

Windows locked, doors bolted shut.

The Memories locked in and life kept out - the house was hurting inside and out.

The tiny small house was never built to be alone, this tiny small house with love was built to be a home.

But the Memories bitter and twisted and so full of rage, would push all life out and drive them away.

So the little house - the very tiny small house resided itself to slowly decay, until something peculiar occurred one day.

The door was opened and in they came - they brought with them laughter, love and the house hoped they would stay.

But the memories of the past that lived in this house, became angry and enraged - for they wished to be only ones to stay.

There once was house - very tiny small house with its new people that have came, it creaked and it cracked hoping this time the people would stay.