Shadows croak to be released from the shallow corners of the wooden chest.

A crate crafted to store the bearings of my toys, now tis the home, the safe haven of my only companions.

Cursed and abandoned, left damp and withered.
Whispering
              screams
                        and
                              echoing secrets of despairing joy.

Humid affection and calloused fog the shadowy shallower corners.
Anxiously awaiting, simply waiting.

Perhaps for the shadows to rid the porous wisteria
                                        
                                         decaying
      
                                                           where my soul should have been placed.