After twenty four years of a life filled with people
I find myself alone: unedged
by the lack of elbow room,
less-crowded
one might say.

I say a grandiose hello to the empty walls,
the peeling paper, and chipped paint;
This lonely roaming upon a rotted floor
finally unclenching in its pursuit
of me.

I have relaxed into the fists of it,
made it tame and a thing worth
approaching. I have been beaten
to a numbness which sits in my body as a spark—

a light;
a waning hope.