Room

A lit cigarette-
Sits on the table-
Letting out fumes of disgust.
No there is no windows-
Or lights on the ceilings to show-
The yellow painted walls with-
Blood stains.
The air is dusty and unbreathable.
Cupboard doors hang off there hinges-
And look inside.
There is cracked plates-
With gold rims.
Lower we go to the stove-
In between the small cracks,
Is dirt and grim-
That seems to hover onto the counter tops.
The floor is slit into two-
And lies a knife and a spoon.
Closer to the door-
It is dark and tragedy,
Of people seeing the dead.
When it opens-
The terror screeching is fast,
And memorable.
As the human that used to be-
Is on the ground,
With a cold face as stone-
Green piercing eyes that do not blink.
Hand reaching out-
There above is a red telephone.
That couldnt save the life-
Of the poisoned innocence,
From the grueling room.