The smell of the sun on wooden panels coated with amber

Mold slowly creeping up the wall, eating word by word, a mind-devouring beast

Summer waiting on winter, winter on summer

Welcoming coldness from the buzzing battlefield outside, fair and even to the finger numbing sensation slowly leaving as flames raise satiated

The trees, holding memories of many lives before, silently judging the vanity of looking up to the stars just to think of mankind.

Growing with the grass, now must be dried out, the roses never took well

All never quite enough, yet always real and all so desirable

Recognizable from afar reality, at times coming a step too close, trying to feed, to survive

Hungry as ever, enclosed in a matchbox