Playing House

A seething soul on tiled floors,
White and black and cold.
The lasting quiver of slamming doors
Set by Loathing, uncontrolled.
Panic hiding behind doors and in drawers,
Folded in by triggered pains.
Daring are Love and sweet Remorse,
Playing house, and making claims.
Spite, in humour, opens window’s veils.
Frustration rips them down;
Shredding, ripping, and tearing, he wails,
My mind a damaged crown.

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