The air hung thick damp as old bones

The air hung thick, damp as old bones,

cardboard boxes stacked with forgotten tones.

A spider’s web quivered in the half-light,

paint cans waiting, tired of the fight.

Mold curled its breath around my skin,

a scent that pried open locks within.

Memories folded in the dank embrace,

a basement’s secret, time cannot erase.

That musty pulse beneath the floor—

a weight I didn’t know I bore.

I stood swallowed by the shadow’s swell,

inside that humid, forgotten hell.