The scent of my room means
nothing to you anymore.
Memories of days gone by pollute
the air and as you fill your lungs
you cough them back up.
"You know how uncomfortable your house makes me" comes your gentle response.
I didn't.
But still you insisted I did.
The constant nagging from me
begging and pleading you to waste your days in misery would have ceased.
Uninterrupted and picturesque
of comfort your life would become because I,
like the memories of days gone by,
am only wanted when
reminiscing the joys of yesterday,
all of which have turned to grey.
