God Left the Porch Light On

I hear the clock tick louder than breath,

Shadows stretch like they’ve made peace with death.

Floorboards whisper, soft and cruel,

Empty chair rocks like a fool.

I ask the ceiling—

You got answers or just peeling?

God left the porch light on.

Maybe I’ll walk, maybe I’ll crawl.

God left the porch light on,

But it’s dimming, barely there at all.

Rain taps the glass like it wants in,

My reflection’s cracked, worn thin.

The walls hold stories tight in fists—

I’m not sure I made their list.

I ask the silence—

You got mercy or just violence?

God left the porch light on.

Maybe I’ll walk, maybe I’ll crawl.

God left the porch light on,

But it’s dimming, barely there at all.

Tell me why it all feels so loud

Even the silence is screaming now

Stars falling out the blackened shroud

Is this the end or just the sound

God left the porch light on.

Maybe I’ll run, maybe I’ll stall.

God left the porch light on,

But it’s dimming, barely there at all.