Inhale

The tiles, cracked and scattered across the carpet.
An open archway illuminates the kitchen to the lounge room.
out reached the moonlight is feeble
Chairs and a table; other insignificant witnesses - hardened melt for dining wear.

Belts, buckles and blankets, breathe them in.
you'll inhale reminiscence; lost entities and souls
of innocence, guilt. The curtains blackened
the fragile lacquer of Wooden oak, in pieces.

Blackened little pieces, everything taken in the thickness
of fire, stricken in flames and shrouded in a poisonous smoke.
Shoes, frilly socks left in the simmering light.
Light and dark; their story etched, chipped plaster a rubble.

These afflictions are dead to the physical touch
no one to caress, no bursts of infancy in laughter.
No pride in myself, every memory is all but an afterthought.
Still, I linger. Be it love or loneliness, I linger, still.