The quivering embers litter the floor
The dying hues give way
Flowing parallel with blues
Old news plasters the walls
Thoughts akin to paper mache
A paper heart is dry, brittle, and overused
Halls, emptied, and fleeting
Misleading doors nailed shut
My mind starts to push back, decreeing
Quivering embers little the floor
They become ash
A sigh
No more