Floor is cold and bare.
The silent echoes of life
Doused by the screeching laugh of a ghost.
Walls are dusty.
They smell of urine and decadence.
I step upon a fallen shard of glass.
It cuts into my bare foot with raw pain
But I do not feel it.
The pain is nothing to the sorrow and remorse
That inhabit my heavy heart.
The oven timer blinks.
It mocks me, flashing 12:00 over and over.
The wooden dining table remains, rotting.
One leg has fallen over.
Standing pathetically on three legs, it begs to be put out of misery.
But I am powerless to do so.
I find the couch I loved two years ago.
Instead of love, hated boils inside.
Memories tear at my eyes, begging to be seen.
I close them, but vivid pictures remain.
Memories of living in this wretched unholy house.
There is no place like home.