Lights off, blankets tucked,
The last person goes under.
This old house stands still,
Holding its position
Against frozen wind,
While the blank sheet of snow
Mutes the sounds
Of a whole world on hiatus.

One last sip of water from the sink,
Letting the tap run
until it freezes your lips,
And you glide on the hardwood
Back to your space.

In your chair, the one place
You wanted to be.
But the only thing
That you can feel,
Is the pull of the abyss
And call of the unknown.