Just Visiting

He wandered though the house

Enjoying all the sights

 

The things on the walls

They were all unique, foreign

Nearly unnatural

 

Drawings and paintings

Smiling hysterical faces leering

Acid pictures with waves resonating

From the center

And if one looked closely

The center was a drop of water

 

There seemed to be no true center of focus to the pictures

None of them made sense

The person who made these must have been insane

 

But that was all right

He didn’t live here

 

He didn’t know how he got into this

Strange place, with these people

So he decided it was better to be

Fascinated by these pictures

That seemed to flow in and out of focus

Moving from one topic to another

This left him

 

Enthralled

By the abnormal clutter used as decorations

The sharpie drawings lining the window pass through

From the kitchen to the living room

The multicolored bottles filling the windows

Pillar candles wedged into the mouths of some

Long thin fingers of wax running down the sides

Booklets from the gem cd cases folded out and dissected

Pinned next to the multiple black lights

A pair of skeleton gloves placed on an orange wall tapestry

Flipping off the people walking by the windows

 

Mismatched furniture

Covered in strange colors

Bright orange fabric

 

Nothing complimented anything

From the wood grain to the patterns

 

Disorganization was the only common factor

And the never ending thought

That caution that he may have somehow

Found himself in the residence of a madman

Was a constant whisper in his ear

 

While those people kept looking at him

They kept speaking in hushed voices

Eyes darting back and forth

He felt as if he may be the topic

 

He thought he heard the phrase

“…He seems different.”

 

This boy and this girl

Over in the corner

They seemed to be

Concerned

 

But this didn’t matter to him

He didn’t know them

And they couldn’t know him because

That can’t have ever met

He would have remembered these faces

And he was perpetually anxious to meet,

Yet dreading it at the same time,

The owner of the residence

 

Upon further investigation

He noticed a pipe on the table

Along with the drugs beside it

The bag of marijuana

And the empty bag next to it

 

What was he doing in this place?

Why would he ever want to be here?

How did he get here?

 

Finally, after a long time,

The woman at the far side of the room stood

And approached him

She rested her hand on his arm

And asked,

“Logan wants to leave,

He wants something from his house,

Do you want to come with us?”

 

So he asked

“Who are you?”

Noticing the lines of concern

Growing on her forehead

Furrowing deeper

And she replied

“I’m your girlfriend.”

 

After contemplating this

He followed with,

“Where are we?”

And in a hushed tone she said,

“We’re in your house we’ve been here for hours… 

Don’t you remember?”

He gently nods his head

Leaving her staring

Possibly wondering what may happen next

As he walks down the hallway kitchen

Into the bathroom at the end

 

He turns to the left and looks into the mirror

Just above the sink

Where he found a hidden compartment

In the bottom of the medicine cabinet

Full of crack pipes

 

But he didn’t need to look in there

He wanted the mirror

 

Looking at the reflection

He finally met the madman that owned the residence

The person who inked all the strange pictures

Painted the distorted faces

Lived in a clashing disheveled testament

To instability

 

Looking at the reflection he smiled

Remembering the mushrooms

And said

“It’s nice to meet you sir.”

06-16-2012

0116 AM