This Bitter Chill

i walk into this home. this bitter chill. The sentimental tone. the air is distilled. the pretentious greet, the obligation. The none too discreet, the stated observations. The obvious lingers in ignorant's echoes. The body is in it, but the soul it won't let go. The fire since kindled into a pool of ash. The ghosts they all mingle at the sight of the crash. And you want to believe that there's meaning and substance, that there's growth and abundance but the sun soon sets as the hope dies in dozens.
Life is a murder and god left the scene as we lay in millions, can't count on our dreams. He slaughtered the sheep, and now we can't sleep. blood in the sockets, the lint from my pockets and the thoughts that won't stop it. The flood's on its way. But you can't clean secrets, don't ask where i keep it. Won't find where to bleach it cuz the stain shall remain. I walk from this house, no bags on my arm. No looks over shoulder, no good luck charm. Free from the pageant, the lonely and stagnant. Free from constriction to complete my submission.My eternal inscription. There's no more prescription. No vulnerable convictions, no feigning descriptions of an ideal non fiction.
now  I walk from this road with no shadow in tow, no weeping willow. No feet swing below. i walk a free man, a being, a soul. From beatings i go. From seedlings i grow.