The paint is dry and its smeared across the walls of my home.
Whatever meaning it held, is gone.
The rooms remain empty, barren of souls.
Except mine of course, since I am the ghost.
The walls are covered with pictures of my failures
I always need to be reminded that I cannot be saved.
They watch with amusement as their pawn plays house.
They know they have broken me and know I can't be fixed.
They are becoming bored and want to end the game But they like to watch their prey die slowly.
I walk down the halls, dragging my feet across the floor.
I can only stare at holes in the walls and remember the strength I used to hold.
There is a room in front of me,
Never seen before.
My rotting hands open the door to find another soulless room.
There are no seats to sit upon
Except one that is soaked in blood.
I sit upon my throne and mutter three words, "I am home."
They are said with little happiness, with little sorrow, and with little anger.
My void eyes search for an answer, a face, a friend but I already know there are none.
They are all gone...
They are all lost...
Because I gave up on them a long time ago.
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Wrote this a year ago so why not post it