The child who faded into the wall-paper

Entangled stalks and faded petals,

Entangled stalks and faded petals, advance along the walls...

Entangled stalks and faded petals,
advance along the walls…

advance along the walls,
oozy stains long since settled,
dampens every lively breath.

Bottles rest in seasoned poses,
trays reveal such rancid ashes,
splaying bodies slowly decompose,
alive, but putrid nonetheless.

The telly’s blurting lurid sounds,
distressing lights contrasting,
showing carefree lives beyond,
at this ungodly morning hour.

Dawn reaches through the window,
sending forth a ray of sun,
creeping slowly towards the corner,
enhancing filthiness and grime.

Softly kissing a tiny toe,
a form crouching unaware,
covering with a golden glow,
the boy who’s hardly there.

A shadow on the wall unfolding,
afraid to stir the sleeping beasts,
glides among the faded patterns,
on a hunt for stuffs to eat.

He knows his way, he knows his time,
he knows the retributions,
should he linger for a while,
no more an optical illusion.

He creeps and sneaks and crawls around,
as nimbly as a fawn,
when all his needs are swiftly done,
he retires back into the wall.

Entangled stalks and faded petals,
advance along the wall,
among the stains long since settled,
he’s hardly noticeable at all.

The reclining beasts begin to stretch,
they moan and grunt and swear,
grabbing round their throbbing heads,
calling for a boy who isn’t there.