A Door

The door.
As always it was closed,
And darkness from underneath
Was reaching, creeping across
The floor.

The floor.
It was just plain concrete
Holding up my feet,
But it was stained with blood inside
The room.

The room.
It was plain and bare
Cold and hard, strong and confining.
The secret was what was in there;
The boy.

The boy.
He was dangerous, dark,
Evil, calm, and grim,
But it all started in what was above him:
The house.

The house
Outwardly happy and cheerful
Internally filled with despair.
Only one thing would choose to live there;
The mouse.

The mouse.
Quiet and quick,
With a glint in it's eye
As it followed the man with the trick;
The murderer.

The murderer.
He sat with a smirk
As away life drains
Creating another bad thing;
The blood stains.

The blood stains.
They were sealed into the floor of the room
Signifying ones doom
but not the doom of the boy,
The brother.

The brother.
A child, dead from age nine.
Loving his brother, with him one last time
Before he was killed. Sliced in half by
The ax.

The ax.
Hidden in the shed,
Upon it the blood of the dead,
And one other thing;
The tears.

The tears.
Shed by all in the house;
Brother, murderer, mouse
And especially the boy concealed behind
The door.

The door.
Closed, concealing, confining.
Cutting off the world.
And yet, it was only
A door.