old

A long, old hallway divulges my secrets.

She looked at herself many times, whispers the mirror in a voice so hoarse it scratches like

sandpaper.

I have met her puzzle pieces time and again, croaks the toy-strewn floor.

She wandered up and down me when she had nothing else to do, confides the worn rug.

She danced her fingers along my shelves, says the pock marked book shelf.

She listented to music and sang along, blares the old green radio.

I know the soles of her feet like I know myself, sings the rung on the chair.

I have captured a moment of her youth, sing-songs the silver framed photograph.

The beating of her heart was my closest friend, whispers the torn, black shirt.

She loved her family, say the many cards lining the window sill.

But she is gone, they whisper together.

She is gone.

(Ok, so this is something of a new direction for me to take my writing in. I would love feedback.)

“Earl! Where the hell is my oatmeal?” Rose said, her voice containing the essential components of both a shout and croak.
“It’s on its way, Missus Emerson,” Earl called from the tiny kitchen around the corner, concluding his thought with a cavernous burp.
“Don’t you burp like that, Earl. It’s rude,” she croak-shouted through tobacco-ravaged lungs. After a few moments of silence, she figured out that he had chosen not to grace her with a response, and in a few more he entered with a steaming bowl perched atop a breakfast tray clutched in oven-mitted hands. He set it down on the night table next to the antique lamp and glass of lukewarm water that seemed to always be half empty.

I don't get
Why you smoke
Waste away your life
In embers and ashes

Sounds stupid to me

Are you trying
To kill yourself?
Whether or not
You were addicted
Before or after

I don't care
She died of cancer
Which you can cause
By inhaling
By exhaling

That alone
Should make you
Want to stop

So it's not easy
Life's not easy
You've gotten through
Half of yours
And you've probably
Leaned on friends and family

Well
That's what you
Need to do

There are people
Who care about you
Why won't you care
About yourself?

Too many great people
Pass away
From things they can't
Control

Wouldn't it be a waste
To pass away from something
You can control?

Life has purpose
If you feel like
You have nothing left
To offer
You're pretty stupid

You're a role model
For me
For her
For so many people

You were there for us
Let us be there for you

.
Creaky door opens slowly,
Dust falls from
Long forgotten places.
Sometimes I wonder
What clutter used to
Lay discarded in this
Old room.

We pull it out, covered in dust and the musk of the room makes my noise crinkle. Once in the sunshine its power can be shone. It's got more potential then can ever be imagined. Who will ever know what secrets are hidden away, put in storage, until needed once again. Who owned this secretive treasure? Who loved it? Was it a young girl who used it as a safe haven for dolls soaked with love?