This lamp
Vaguely lit
Spills a dim light
Across carelessly strewn
Papers and books
A coffee table covered
With disregarded letters
As though someone
Cares to read them

This fire
Crackles softly
A sigh of contentment
In it’s place to warm
A vacant home
Seemingly pointless
As though someone
Feels the heat

This rug
Braided for the sole purpose
To be stepped on
Tromped upon
Dirtied
And hardly ever cleaned
Loyally holds down
The fort
At the bottom of the staircase
As though someone
Ever climbs it

This quilt
Hangs from the banister rails
A faithful companion
To collect dust
Looking forward
To simply becoming
An ancient cloth
Thread bare with loose stitches
If only to linger a little longer
And preserve the once
homey presence
Of this house
As though someone
Lives here

You see
Everything in my heart
Merely a façade
With high hopes
To fool you into thinking
I still live there
To deceive you
With the false impression
That there is indeed doubt

To mislead
Your own ‘house’
To assume I am
But a humble
Guest
A visitor
A temporary tenant

When in fact
I vacated my home
Months ago

Secretly holed up
In the spaces between your walls
The cracks in your floorboards
The slits of your vents

Desperately longing
To go unnoticed
In hopes that you’d believe
I was not completely yours

But here I am

Living in someone
Else’s
House.