This house

There's not mirrors in this house. She can't bear to see her own face. There's no scales, no glass and no shiny surfaces, for any reflection of any kind might give her the sense she's actually human. If she were to see herself, she might have some sort of self worth. It's all fine though, since there are no reflective surfaces in this house.

There's no keys in this house. He can't bear to breathe the pure outside air. There are no windows, just walls. If he had the chance to see, hear, feel or breathe what's outside, he might get the sense that there's actual freedom. If he were to yearn for freedom, he might have some sort of self worth. It's all fine though, since there are no keys or windows in this house.

There's no food in this house. They can't bear to eat anything. There are no cupboards full of cans, and no refrigerator with milk, for they might get the feeling they were once alive. If they were to know they were alive, they might feel like they have purpose, they might have some sort of self worth. It's all fine though, since there is no food in this house.

There are no people in this house. You can't bear to see anyone. There are no mothers or father, sons or daughters, no sisters or brothers. If you would ever see any trace of family, you might feel like you're worth something. You might have some sort of self worth. It's all fine though, since you're all alone, for there are no people in this house.

There is no meaning in this house. I couldn't bear the idea of meaning. There is no knowledge, no care, no love in this house. If I were to ever get the sense of meaning, I might have some sort of self worth. It's all fine though, since there is no purpose and no meaning in this house.