Her house was a living mortuary
The walls were draped in strips of memories slowly peeling off
The books on the shelves were like full graves never opened
The pictures faded in the sun to the point of no recognition like a white backdrop
The clothes on the floor missing the skeleton that held them
And the toys lay on the floor wishing their demise was farther off
M.A.P
©
The Essence Of Who I Am 
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