Prank or Maybe I’m Losing It

A crucifix is laying head-first in an open oven.

A wine bottle is crusted to a kitchen counter,
black panties across a rocking chair.

Someone did this.

A note on the toilet says,
“Gotcha!”

The glass of broken snow globes decorates the tub.
Drawings of hearts on the mirror look unhappy,
suicidal cherub working a noose in the cellar.

Outside it is dark, people have taken to the streets.
Drowning will replace deep breathes,
realism conquers love, and once a year

a thought about someone will disappear.

As personality burns in the background,
the reoccurring shadow of Osiris rises
above mountains and falls behind trees.