This house holds secrets. Like a deaf and dumb mute with perfect vision. It has seen truth and deceit on the same hour.
I can hold secrets that well. Like this house, you could burn me down, I wouldn’t say a word.
All this adds up. The weight of hidden truth just grows. Till it collapses.
I want to scream, like some abusive husband in an uproar until I’m heard. Does nothing. It’s as empty as these silent walls.
Love never fails, life is suffering.
Be a good sufferer? What’s the use of that I wonder?