Swarming and bustling with life before, the shopping centre fades into oblivion
Memories: holding hands, the trendy boba place now shunned by the grave the boards create
They breathe in artificial light; neon and argon, tungsten burning light churning it cries out a message for no one to receive

The lights are on

The carousel still spins and whirls if you'd let it, not like the rotting wood and asbestos air would let you get it
Arcade machines still clank and clink with every passing adventurer, shining brightly with meretricious gems behind the counter
Ever distracted security cameras still blink from the vacant office, deceiving and disbelieving every new explorer
Food from 2005 only just beginning to expire from their age not the electricity nor water they don't lack

The lights are on
The taps still run
The memories still stain

Mock police tape adorns the children's play area from the final day, the fireworks and thoughts beginning to fade
Like the finger paint acrylic they spilt to this day impossible to dig out of the rotting carpets without the huge patches that fray

The lights shine

A halo of smashed glass and barren tents remain

It's too bad nobody's home

© Sam Hunter