my house on a bad day.

My house has four rooms

It can feel more like a hundred.

Each room, holds millions more

depending on the day

each second, an hour more

for however long I stay.

The doorways, all so timeless

and flexible —

In my room, there lays my bed

and in my bed, I lay.

my bedroom, the fortress

and my bedroom, the maze.

The rest of the house, always

maladaptive —

She can feel almost foreign

at least on the hollow days.

my house, the infinite

and my house, the malaise.