Writing Prompt #8

Today’s Writing Prompt is:

Write a prose poem…any topic this week!

My Response to Last Week’s Prompt is:

It’s hard not to feel
the terror of these walls
as they slowly cave into
shapeless, oozy blobs of
plaster and paint chips.
There’s not much color
left over from those bright
days it used to enjoy.
Maybe that’s what
happens to certain shades
when there’s no one
there to enjoy it.

It’s been so long
that the plants have
started to take over—
growing on, around, in,
and even through the
old mansion. That aching
spiral stair, marble cracked
and sagging, is still
the centerpiece of stories.
And this must, critter
ridden furniture looks
like lumpy ghosts
beneath the dust covered
sheets left by the
memories of people who
lived together with these
semi-shapeless blobs.

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