This House Poem by Bryan Riley

I woke up tired, and
the day was grey-
the clouds hung low in
the sky, pushing back
the sun, pushing
forward at the earth;
I wanted to take a walk,
but my shoes were too heavy
and my feet wouldn't move.

Now, I am sitting at the
table, writing my life story,
listening to the damnably
loud ticking of a clock,
feeling the silent weight
of oppression from the
house above me-
This house, that wants
to strangle me
to death inside
my bones