Clothes, unworn, scattered on the floor. 

A silver lock, helped close the door. 

Do you hear the screams? They’re coming from the top drawer. 


The mirror, clouded with dust, splatters of hairspray, powder.

Her music so loud, she’ll have to scream louder. 


Old toys covered in dust, untouched, unloved.
 
Once came to life, now their colours faded from the light. 

Will she survive? This war? 

She might. 

But it’s clouded.

Unsure, if she’ll make it through the night.







By me.