And I have been the architect
of my own house of discontent.
No other hand drew up the plans,
No Lord but I collects the rent.

On mental blueprints it was drawn;
designed by me in hurt or pride.
a masterpeice of self-made art,
this domicile where I reside.

Now see the doors with solid locks,
and how they only swing one way.
To keep me safe within my house,
but never let me get away.

And note the bars on windows,too.
They serve to keep out those who might,
come stealing from me things I hide,
like desperate and lonely nights.

The view selected with great care,
a garden once,now barren plain.
A place where once I planted seeds
and watered them with tears of pain.

The walls are thick to keep out drafts
that might bring outer scents to me,
like flowers blooming in the spring,
to tempt me then to leave and see.

Beneath the basement stairs I built
a vault to seal from light above,
those feelings that I scorn and hate,
like friendship,happiness and love

And in the attic,cobwebbed lair,
I packed away with spinster-style,
in boxes things I do not use,
my empty laughter and my smile.

A den for me to take my ease
before a fire with bitter flame.
With trophies hanging on the walls
of last place,always, in the game.

Oh long I labored at this job
and built it with such sad intent.
Yes I have been the architect
of my own house of discontent.