Dried up shrubs and grass, dead maple tree, fallen dead leaves on the patio, Creaky sound of the door.
Shreds of papers and thrash on the floor, Shattered glass, Broken windows, worn out curtains.
Paint peeling off, Stinking aroma all around, dim lighting from candles, bitter air embraces.
Blood stains on the sofa and carpets, preserves of eyeballs and teeth and fingers, growth of molds on left overs, unwashed dishes on the sink.
Empty bottles of brandy and beers, inch thick of dust in every panel, deposits of dirt in every corner, ashtray full of cigarette butts and grit.
Flies swarming, rats scampering, cockroaches observing, thick cobwebs each with a black widow feasting.
Scattered laundry, uncleaned toilet and lavatory and tub for years, a broken mirror, a skull rests and snickers.
There’s only one thing I could say, I am home.
