The Secret Spot

The home from home,
My wooden shack,
Full of spiders, broken plastic and webs.
The plastic windows moved in the panes,
As the wind howled around it.
The woodchip reminds me of Christmas,
But broken Christmas gifts lay
Shattered on the floor.
A spider runs from corner to corner,
Finding where he’d made his web,
Wondering why he had to move it again.

The sounds of secrets whispered around,
Trying to be devoured by webs
To never be spoken again.
The wooden chimney screaming,
Trying to keep the cold out and the secrets in
But failing.