The Scent of the Death
Among solitude and darkness
I have no name anymore
The mirrors on the walls are entirely shattered
There are no shadows in the house
The Sun left a time ago
And in its place, there is a ghostly and pale light
A perpetual candle is always lit to commemorate all the memories
Both the horribles and the blissful ones
The cracks on the walls are a reflection of the misery of the soul living thither
Spiderwebs are the curtains protecting the intimate moments of a desolate soul
A deserted soul who lost every joy and hope.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
