RDP Monday: BRACKISH
It wasn’t the smell
it wasn’t the dust- gray and black with age
that clung to the walls,
with tiny teeth and maybe claws
that made me want to tear the old house down
with my bare hands.
It was the angry words
the vicious threats
that nested and hid in every single dark corner
waiting for the windows to shatter, for the doors to open
so that they could fly free and find another rotten house
to call home.