Locked

Locked, the door and this house, in need of maintenance by one, who refuses to do the job while being unaware of this decision, living blissfully ignorant to that which looks them in the eye, smiling while lying, crying because of the dying feeling surrounding the house, incapable of breaking down the locked door with the battering ram approach which served so well in the past, but has now become obsolete with the passing of people and time, both as irretrievable as each other, yet both the only ones with the power to unlock the door to this locked house, as one is one, but has always been many, just at different intervals with bigger or smaller locks, depending on the circumstance and time of when the first meeting took place, with the early years spent falling hopelessly and the more recent encounters spent pushing potential away out of fear of producing more pieces for the house's mantel.

(not really a poem, more so a long winded sentence - the point was to say everything in one breath to get the effect of a person either shouting or pleading uncontrollably).