Dusty and empty,

the outside slowly crumbles in.

Collapsing the house where no-one lives.

Inside, echoes of the past,

the faded outline of a painting that once hung,

furniture long since gone,

everything stripped bare.

Shadows flicker,

an illusion of movement,

an illusion of thought,

memories of the person who once was.

It's easy to forget,

once holding life,

now only holding on.

No-one lives here anymore.