Quatrain: "Body of Home"

Head in the attic

With all the forgotten artists

Heart as dark as the septic

Both clouded in dusts

Cold breath from the vent

Nipping the skins of dwellers

Lungs wheeze the furnace scent

Grunting amongst all the spiders

Eyes caught against the window

Reflecting sights from the darkness out

Consciousness crackles a fireplace tempo

Flames dwindle, weeping cinders of doubt

Frosty bones ache as a withering floorboard

Groaning in distress at each padded toe's head

Pipes spew in the night; like veins all gored

Lesions carve the siding in lacing cracks of red

Paint chips stolen away at midnight's frore bite

The pigment splinters flutter in motions of wounded fireflies

Exposed blemishes glow under the lucidity of cratered light

Where the stony steps crumble from the veranda that they lie

Your body was once a home of affection so fervent

Clear head, heart light, lungs clean, gleaming skin

Though, the weather always changes with a torrent needn't

Now you could use some fixing, but you won't let me in