The Faded Rose

I stare at the hall wall,

that same tired spot.

The floral print, roses faded

to a dull pink blush,

has begun to lift again.

A corner curled,

showing the plaster underneath,

like a mouth opening to speak.

The edges brittle,

thin as old paper skin.

They lift and crackle,

a quiet sound, almost.

Unraveling slowly,

day by day,

revealing what was

always behind.