He had a plan
an idiot idea
he built himself a house
felt he knew what was best for him
even if it didn’t go right
Every brick was a memory
mortared together by his tears
every window a childhood nightmare
the tiles he formed of arguments past
the door was made from many breakups
the foundations built from his mistrust
He finished the house by his own hand
but found he could not live comfortably
trapped within his own recollections
his home became his prison
Thought he could not go on alone
felt closer to ending himself
cried himself to sleep every night
which only made the walls grow thicker
Until at last a friendly voice came
and battered down the door
shattered the tiles and bricks
and blew the windows to dust
destroying his lonely prison
Five years later and free from his old cell
he feels much better about all
has built a mansion for himself
and his new family to live in
He had a great plan
an idiot idea
he built himself a house
all that remains now is dust and soil
in the garden of his new family home
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