Cold in hues of shivers and chills hang above the unmade bed,
Invisible tendrils of bitter seeping into the heavy air.
Ice sheets strewn across the grey-white fjords of unkempt.
In a slit between the unopened curtains, a brittle shard of light pierces through –
And dust twirling like flurries of snowflakes in storms, drift across infinities; gyrating from brilliance to obscurity in evanescence.
The steady ringing of silence clings to the peeling walls, leaking onto the floor – like a heavy fog it’s suffocating.
The absence of ticking or tocking, buzzing or breathing is nauseating, it’s Schrödinger’s room in here; midnight, morning, evening, dusk.
Everything and yet nothing – the paradox of quantum mechanics encased behind a door.
On the bedside table empty glasses left in disarray; an army of hollow soldiers, their see-through bodies draped in layers of dusty snow, unquenched and frozen, forgotten prisoners of war.
Stillness is lain like a fine cloth over this little world- humans had abandoned here and whilst they have left everything, here now lies nothing.