Walls coloured custard
with faded silk stripes,
edges eaten into threads
by starving insects.
Crying from dank,
rot-punctured ceilings,
the deafening drips
of porous pipes.
Billowing drapes
of drowsy moth villages,
surrounded by hollowed
ancestral shells.
Splintered window shards
glimmering throughout,
like an ageless symphony
of shattered glass.
There is much life
in fleshy bubbling fungus,
a whole new universe
of slippery blackness.
Dizzying spirals
of floating dust dots,
appearing to linger
in defiance of time.
Stillness screams
from a rusted hinge,
come in.
About the Creator
Jamie Wilkinson
23 year old writer/poet from Montreal, Canada.
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