Gray House

Hi BadNarrator.

Lol. Your nickname doesn't fit you at all. Bahahah... Okay, talking 'bout your writing, I like it. Though, I really dislike the fact that you cut some lines to create the stanzas. It distracts the reader from the subject you're bringing us. I'd suggest you to work on that. Other than that, I think this is great.

Keep it up!

~Solly<3

This poem was very beautiful and intriguing. My only suggestion is not to split up the stanzas in the middle of the sentence because it gets confusing and breaks the flow a little.
Sincerely,
Klotrox

They say that this is the age when
you start thinking in images
rather than words. Here are some words:

“You shouldn’t have gone in there. What
happened to your clothes?” Leftover
pictures: On the wall, a woman’s

photo plastered above a bunk,
legs open. Other senses kick
in: The bouquet of soil threading

between the boards, a door closing
in the adjacent room, moist breath
on the small of your back. Recall

playing the rug on the hollow
floor, underlooking the gravel
road: Once there were others watching

with you; once there was a man whose
face is a thumbprint. Mostly you’re
alone, but there’s still that friendly

whitethorn scraping the window. They
bulldozed it while you were away,
to put up a yellow stable

for thoroughbreds. But the willow
which used to hide its façade is
still there. It’s next to the silo

where yellow striped spiders—you called
them “fiss-sized” in those days—consumed
and reconstructed their homes each

night. Remember abducting young
grasshoppers to rattle their webs?
In your picture-thoughts you marveled

at how quick that motionless X
became with a nymph smothered in
its silk. Their two jumper legs would

kick at the spiracles of their
aggressor’s; the four little ones
bent and curled like ungreased hinges.

You always had a chuckle or
two at their dance of creaks and moans.
More words: “Sometimes they got away.”