Two Cemeteries

I have two cemeteries within my house.

One on the ground floor, in a very small room, under the stairs, where my shoes, sole wounded from their run through many rough roads rest in peace.

The other one is in the attic where dozens of my notebooks, badly scratched with my handwritings, are buried.

I know nothing about where this mysterious power comes from, yet it ties me so close with these dead things and thoughts.

However, on the first floor I sleep, and the cemetery under the stairs is my feather bed, and that in the attic is my eiderdown.