A soft and gradual melting. Constricting and binding when it slithers in to remove and steal. Suffocating, when it sets in and smothers out the brilliant and happy flames. There isn’t a single vicious strike or a lethal slash through and through; no, there are only tiny cuts and slivers leaking away all color and warmth. With soft and gradual motions the colors are scrubbed from the walls. Warmth leeches through the cracks, fading into black oblivion outside. Bleeding into the world, the colors and heat ooze away. Exiting, leaving me chilled and alone, the color marches off. Exiting, leaving me chilled and alone, the warmth marches off.
Who is this leisurely thief? One who would leave another burnt with frustration. But who is this mysterious villain? Who would leave another shrouded in a world without hope? One who rubs away the color and dissolves the home.
In the silky lining of the night, the bare walls shine. Naked, without charm or meaning, they gleam in the moonlight. Brilliantly, they smile at me. Brutally, they grin without fault or flaw. A splendid, yet crisp creaking shoots along the walls and the floor. These tiny noises bloom in pairs. These double pops are eerie and precise with their chill. Serenading the ugly smile plastered on walls, the pops and creaks shatter the silence of the night. They lash out from their hidden sanctuaries, and like extended fingers grip my skin and pull my security away.
A soft and gradual melting; a perverting sway that betrays all childhood promises and ideals. A performance, a quivering dance of pens; an evil ritual tainted with the scent of lust and avarice. A vacant building, purged of warmth and cleaned of all color and vibrancy. A home peeled down to the studs, cleansed of personal property.
Who would leave another burnt with frustration? One who would rub away all of the colorful memories and soaked the stained walls with cheap wallpaper and tacky decorating schemes.