What can be

A sudden uneasy, in the calm of warmth.
Tracing the edges, of the styrophone cup. Stained sides, from the sinking taste. A long forgotten feeling, of nostalgia's foreign gaze.

Flickering nostalgia, off and on.
For it has no plug, only the spirit.
Fake silver off of the floor,
With a ceiling of hope,
That leaks the soul.

I've been invited to a home,
That is not my own.
From the cold and frosty winter,
That had hands to my last cinder.
Inside walls alone is the light,
That brings frost to its slight.
Dawning red and green,
For the decorated evergreen.
In which I'm blinded by brightened haze,
By looking to nostalgia, with a foreign gaze. Only the spirit can spare,
The fruitfull goodness of the glare.
But I couldnt take myself to look,
Because attach never could keep hook.
That's the end of when I tried,
And began to hide.