#66: Everything was here

The end of the world
is marked with the end of time
slow motion

The end of time
is the end of everything
weeds grow over it.
Something else exists in its place.

Something else exists in its place.

Empty bottles lie restless on worktops
Shoes cast aside
notes sit waiting for the pen in the study
folded socks and pants await customers
to un-oiled drawers
perfume lingers for a moment
and then disappears
bread goes limp
bins stand overflowing
playfully moving
inflows and outflows of mice.
Cloakrooms full of empty coats
rest alongside dead flowers.
Dust jackets crumble off books in an old room.
Piano keys sit patiently for future fingers
broken musical instruments
In a stale bedroom
the mirror sparkles in the distance
reflecting no-one back.
Old forgotten teddy-bears
search for hugs in the dust of every room.
Beds bereft of dreams or adventure or love
the pillows cry
and the sheets call out.
Ornaments discarded on the floor in front of the fireplace
the mantelpiece empty
the hearth decorated
spider webs, cobwebs, dead tinsel.

The devil.
Nothing serves its purpose here.
The photographs fitted into frames
around the walls
slowly lose their colour
paintings die in the cracks of sunlight
that peek through boarded-up windows.
Empty hairbrushes
cleaned of all evidence
exist on dressing tables
with half-used make-up
and soiled brushes
Cassettes contain no tape
Record player
responds blank, blank, blank, blank…

This house is sealed
from inside and out
the insects come and go
as they please
but no-one comes in
the curtains pulled back
reveal pieces of old wood
nailed to the frames
outside a flower box
quietly deceased
newspapers grow wet
in the outside bin
the damp encroaches on the library
books expand with water
dust settles ever more
lenses of old glasses
lie cracked on a side table
in frames
never to be worn again
in the front room
the television
with no power
speaks out to nobody in the house
calls out
blank, blank, blank, blank…
nowhere to get in, nowhere to get out.

This house is sealed.
The door records
blank, blank, blank…
nowhere to get in, nowhere to get out.



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