this gentle descent

The squeak of your front door
To which I've grown accustomed
Was impossible to shut out
In this, my final visit

The springs and hinges
Squeezing and straining
If possible, they too would be crying

The kitchen clenched the stench of death
And yet, that comforting scent of yours
My feet never felt heavier
My heart never beat so lightly
And this house
Never wept with such loneliness

On the floor
Lay your captainless vessel
Layers of tissue
Thin and fragile
Your soul; the linchpin
And you yourself pulled it

So weak and lifeless
What compels a man to do this