We have run our three course meal into the ground.
So back to the house no longer called a home,
where the air is stale with unfulfilled promises and carbon monoxide,
suffocating.
In the harsh light of the fridge,
the milk sits,
souring.
The fruit bowl is a compost heap
of overripe cherries,
covered in the moss of mould.
The apples have furred over,
biodegraded.
Become a new, poisonous organism.
Like us.