this place is for
holidays
only
,

we live in a room far
more dark and
empty

where walls hold
generations

of intentions confined
to frame
,

portraits snapped at
different
times

all boast the same
ghastly grin
in grey,

but we’re on
holiday.

the tone is
dour,

a taste grown
sour

on tongue of
beast

in need of
shower,

curtains drawn-

grim features
sketched

on wall to
see..

what’s better
left
,

from tower, man
emerges

clean and fresh,
with gentler
urges.

pixabay