The House of Blues

Some days, I live inside my head;

a place that is home to jumbled

memories: fragments of the past.

Inside my mind is a maze with no

end: a house with squeaky floors

and trap doors. Sometimes,

I struggle to see the bright side

of life because I don’t wash

the windows or open the blinds.

The inside of this overgrown

house, built on a shaky foundation,

is littered with lost opportunities

and broken dreams. The walls

are covered with beautiful

paintings: self-portraits of those

gone and those living on,

lovely landscapes, and mesmerizing

murals. Engraved on the inside

of my skull are life-altering dates,

words of wisdom, and advice

meaningful enough to take.

Each wall tells a story

only I can hear. Often, the outside

of the house looks better because

the inside can hide all of the ugly.

There are no light switches

inside this dimly-lit house; there

are only lamps powered by

contemplation and exploration.

From the front to the back,

there is a set of train tracks

that enter one room and exit

the next. Every morning, I step

over multiple trains of thought

that appear to be off track

or completely lost. I turn

the corner and walk down

a neverending hallway

with thousands of doors on each

side. I pass some doors and hear

faint but familiar voices:

muffled conversations I have

once had with people who will

disappear when I open my eyes.

Behind some doors are former

versions of myself who sit alone

and cling onto negative thoughts:

lingering pain glued to the brain.

Those rooms I avoid. I come

to find that some rooms don’t

serve a purpose; they can consume

too much energy and time.

When I open some doors,

all I can see is an empty room,

but if I step in, and stay still,

the room will start to fill.

For brief moments, I can hear

footsteps and the fluttering

of wings: the sounds of lost souls,

angels, and friendly spirits that

surround me with love and light.

No matter how painful it will

be, I will walk through every

door and go into every room,

even if the last one is my tomb.