This house

It's a mirror
Only reflecting things I can't bare
The broken glass
The heartaches
The endless nights
Only showing what I fear.

Being alone
No noises come from inside
It's bare with no light
It stays cold through the months
With wind hitting its sides
No ringing from the phone.

No ones around
The corners are shadowed
The rooms are dusty
There's a letter
Just a blank paper
Fallen to the ground.

This place has no life in it
Its like a box closed and sent away
With no meaning in its course
This paperback novel is a lie
With a short ending
And a never-ending pit.