my homes decay

I’ve built a narrow, stone path. Adorned by edges of overgrown grass, and a withered fence.

Small steps, shuffle cowardly, avoiding your toes.

My reflection clings to yours, downcast from a dusky light- An embrace to isolation in vain, yet i still cling to it.

The rotten, pungent wood smells dismissible now. Ive made this place my home.

A stained grin through yellow, chipped teeth and a held tongue. My guilty conscious may rest, once you have permitted it.