The grey house of Doom.

I wonder if they notice
up there in the grey house of
Doom.
I wonder if they can feel
the rustling of my dress
against my feet,
the prick of dried grass
beneath me.
I wonder if they can hear
the way my heart beats
ten feet away
perched on a hill
in a little grey house of
Doom.
Thud, skip, thud.
The people next door say
leave, run, hide.
But as I sit on the grass
behind the grey house of
Doom. My courage
packaged neatly with a
ribbon that says
survivor...escapee.
I know.
I know.
I know.
But I can still feel my
heart beating twenty feet
away.
In the grey house of doom,
wrapped in tattered cloth
beside you.