Never thought Id be a stranger in my own home,
surreptitiously walking the familiar halls,
armored in alarm for the tempestuous tension storms----
battle ready no-mans-land of domestic life.
Getting sick of uneven eye-to-eye views,
skewing each issue into ammunition.
Each encounter wears thin this precarious detente,
time won’t permit old hatred be forgot.
Every groaning wall and creaking floor,
each flickering, staticy light,
to the grave-plot bed;
all resembles eternal incarceration.
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