The House Is Real

Am I out of my breath?

Am I out of my cards?

My cards were still warm in my hands

The house being a dollhouse

All your dolls are lovely

Not just a compliment

They kill each other in the night

In clockwork orange in grapefruit

I can handle the sting of your liquid lipstick

It makes all other varnishes cry alone in the night

You were in the living room playing piano

The glass instrument is just very fair

There was a painting of a lady and a swan in the foyer

Both were clayed with a thousand layer of petroleum 

I could be one of your dolls if I'm not just someone else's dolly

All my cards were still warm in my hands

Even the replacement ones

Even the replacement hands

November 2024

By Aran Meredith