deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Withered

Warped wallpaper  
& sharp edges  
Peeled back paint  
& concrete stairs  
Reinforced doors 
& stained carpet
The smell of nicotine  
In the air  
 
Time worn wrinkles  
Held me tightly  
Tone deaf cords  
& brushed out hair  
Beauty could not  
Be afforded  
But adoration  
Was not spared  
 
Maybe my love  
For the withered  
Does not come  
From lack of wealth  
But because  
It was the last time  
I felt true love  
In that old creaky house
Written by Isgyppie_ (L.C. McQuillen)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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