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Creaking doors in tumble down corridors
Give away at the slightest push,
Trembling legs make it to rest,
As this ruse slowly strips away.

The dilapidated bed struggles to support a fall,
As the shabby blanket embraces a hollow form,
Winds howls in through cracks in the window,
And the moon checks in from time to time.

Eyes peer through this veil of darkness,
Light fades in the distance,
Ever falling towards the seedy underbelly,
Yet never reaching.

The dusty floor covered in heaps of clothing,
Cleverly conspires with the scorching heat,
To hide those tears,
That pour out from irreparable gaps of the heart.

Wails from some invisible corner,
Rouses from a sleepless slumber,
Who is this shrunk, morose figure,
That begs to leave.

The mouth of a well,
Overlooks the cold reservoir,
Tugging at the damp rope,
Oblivious of no escape.

Dull and musty curtains,
Waving in sympathy,
Mourning at the dire sight,
Of a soul trapped within itself.

Loud knocks and comforting cries,
Fails to bridge the inconsistencies,
Of a torn mind, a lost conscience,
And shrivelling further with every shun,
Slowly locks itself away.

Behind barred windows and closed doors,
Figures gape at each other,
At the exacerbating pain tearing through their insides,
At those scars peeking through decaying masks.

Hands stretch out for help,
They touch and vanish,
A moment of hope and salvation,
Right before the deceitful trance breaks.

Back in those stale sheets,
Underneath a ceiling of peeling plaster,
An overturned glass, a waft of smoke,
A defeated man starts calling it home.