Behind lonely hours of dusk sunken gloom,
shattered tormented breaths ringer, solely,
underneath kaleidoscope walls.
Of a nostalgic room.

Behind lonely hours of exchanged sleep,
in return for nothing better to do.
Forsaken furniture floats,
bodiless clothes scattering an ex home of their host.
Often craving limbs to cling onto.

Behind lonely hours of self pity,
mangnolia canvas differs to my once many-hued.
How we cherish memories
no longer mortal.
How we cherish
that once
child infected innocence.

Of our nostalgic r o o m .

Of a one-sided t i m e p o r t a l