Rotten To The Core

If my soul was a building,
I'll tell you how it'd be,
hidden beneath lengths of ivy,
resting in the shade of a tree.

The property would be beautifully kept,
and the ivy would be in full bloom,
but deep inside the mysterious house,
many dark shadows would loom.

The floor boards would squeak in agony,
while the lights would flicker non-stop,
dust and clutter would be everywhere,
from torn carpets, to sticky old bottles of pop.

Animals would be running ramped,
from birds and raccoons to rodents alike,
gnawing away at the interior,
causing the number of holes to spike.

There would be huge gouges in the floor,
from people who once ran through,
everything would be falling apart,
but outside it would look brand new.

Shattered mirrors in every room,
dark paintings in every hall,
but no one will ever know,
because upon them no light will fall.

All the doors would be locked,
and no one would see the mess within,
no one would hear the dripping of the tap,
or see the rugs worn thin.

If my soul was a building,
the outside would stand tall,
but deep inside the concrete walls,
the whole place would be starting to fall.

But by fixing up the outside,
people stop and admire with a grin,
oblivious to the piece of cement,
that suddenly dropped within.

©
PLZ COMMENT AND VOTE THANX

this is full of metaphores so you have to look deeper to get the message that I'm trying to send