Aged over years. Each crack and line evidence of another stroke from time’s cruel hand; symptoms from the stretch of of the journey. Once polished and erect, standing proudly in front of those that travelled through and left. The beauty that was coveted and cared for eroding with every fracture and trespass. Each opening and closing scarring the surface and peeling away the layers of protection, leaving a weary resemblance in its wake. A spaghetti pot of cerebral noise from the past turning into an exhaustion of mind numbing disassociation. Language slips away and fails. Consciously unconscious. Hanging by a thread in emotional tatters; faded and left to rot.
Labels: atozchallenge, doors, timeworn. age
