Hues of brown and shades of black adorn the walls and floor,
Completely and utterly empty and devoid of life,
Dust and decay lying all around,
A room that was, but is no more.

Wallpaper drapes onto the unswept carpet,
Its glue gone dry and pattern faded.
Soot and dust, clinging to its tattered surface,
Ripped and ragged, it hangs.

Two broken wooden chairs sit side by side against a wall,
The wood perished and rotted through.
The arm from one, fallen gently to the ground,
Both chairs propped against each other like an aged married couple.

On the wall there is a window, now shattered and black with dirt,
Once looked out upon a garden of roses,
A garden now dark and overgrown with weeds.
The window now without a view or purpose.

A fireplace stands disused, with its embers cold and damp,
The mantelpiece covered by cobwebs and dust.
Above, some photographs sit forgotten and untouched,
The images faded by time, the frames splitting and falling apart.

In the centre of the room, an unfinished game of cards resides,
Upon a table, frail and weak with age.
The cards chewed and ruined by mice,
Once fun and joy was heard there, but now only silence remains.

This is a lonely and miserable place,
A place where nothing lives, nothing moves and no-one remembers
A room that stopped a long time ago.
A room where I spend my days.