Old House













Old House exhaustion stories
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robotic_nebula
robotic_nebula Poetry, fiction, and sci-fi writer
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
At the end of it all, I have the body of an old house.

Old House

At the end of it all I have the body of an old house.

In the corridors of my brain Fatigue growing on my thoughts like mold on the walls.

My heart a room where things used to happen, Now dead. Where nothing moves but for the dust blowing across the floor.

Haunted by the spectre of the host Waiting for air, a breeze -

waiting for sleep.

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