I went into the house, camouflaged 

in a cheerful sparkling color scheme.

Surely a happy home, a paradise

surrounded by flowers, looking like a dream.

One foot across the doorstep in,

confronted with a room full of blues.

Broken furniture, empty bottles,

and a penetrating smell of booze.

Bloody fingerprints, broken glass,

behind the couch a little girl crying.

It only happens once in a while,

Mom’s facial scars tell she is lying.

Painting with welcoming bright colors,

but the inside truth is not exposed.

You can’t judge her book by its cover, 

if she keeps the flowery curtains closed.

*****