The House That Won't Grow Dark

The rooms don't grow dark anymore, and the halls--far too bright. I think a pixie came in and left an eternal light. No matter the gloom I bring with me, it never dampens the mood. The walls still have flowers on them, and the butterflies still come straight in. The pansies in the front lawn bloom bright and true, and the lilies always come back again. Children fear nothing in this bloody sunlit house, and they laugh here all day long. I try to cause accident's, but it always goes wrong. They dodge an axe head borrowed from the neighbors lawn, or the spiked wood plate that I threw at their arm. Knives are useless, guns absolutely absurd, and fires just make the house brighter. It seems altogether I am a failure. I should have been a Banshee instead.