Why do you keep staring so expectantly, when your senses are failing you,?
The windows are fogged and grimy, withholding its contents.
No need to lock the door, it won't open anyway.
Is that smoke you see, oozing out of the cracks? Where is the fire?!
Why don't the spiders nesting up in the darkness care, where they keep tangling up their endless webs?
Why are the crows pecking vigorously, trying to breach the tin roof?
Shaking, threatening to fall apart, I start painting in red, in the naive hope it will blind the passers by; oblivious to what they all know.
Know that the foundation is crumbling, and their soft breath is slamming against the frail walls like a storm.
Why do you keep staring in the ditch, when the road is right next to it? Keep walking, no one is home.
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