House: Scheduled for Demolition

My mind is nothing but a crumbling wall,

Insulation peeking out. 

My heart is that of an old wood floor,

Splintered, worn, and filled with holes.

My eyes are similar to dusty windows,

Blinded by the light you shed though not letting it in to warm my floors. 

However the love for myself and you are like a young child,

Murdered at the hands of depression. 

And here I am washing the blood from my wood floors, spattered walls, and shattered windows as no fireplace nurses the cold,

    Thinking of you and I.