Blackened Walls

The door creaks open—

a sour breath, cold and sharp,

folds itself into the basement air.

Mildew crawling like spilled ink

on cracked drywall, soft and slow,

a bruise growing unseen.

Boxes stacked in forgotten corners,

wrapped in damp shadows,

smothered under a slow invasion.

Spores drift in stray shafts of light,

dancing like ghosts no one claimed,

a quiet rot pressing against the bones of the house.

I close the door behind me,

but the smell lingers—

a stubborn ache in the damp.