Blood flowing on the outside,
The walls pulsate in the craving of someone's presence
the longer goes by, the more it craves
someone that was there then but is not now.
Pieces were left behind,
seemingly on purpose but thats unknown,
the old furniture won't move, won't burn
It remains in the room as a bad memory of the heart.
Trying to ignore it, not go inside the room,
but it's inevitable as it's impossible to ignore what's inside.
The shell of what used to be then,
that time had left behind.
Can't lock the doors of that empty room
to protect yourself from the pain it brings.
It's always there
whenever you blink.
