The Burning House

There is a house that sits on the corner of Autumn Street

That same house sits on the corner of my soul

It is decorated with red and orange flames 

I am the only one who speaks of this place 

Everyone else protects the house by hiding it

Everyone else shields away from it

Big and strong armor coats them 

They wear it proudly 

But I, oh me, my amour is weak

I fall for the house’s jaw-dropping ways

Me, I walk in vulnerable 

No shields of protection 

No special armor 

Just me falling once again victimless