It runs, feral thing, clawing its way to the corner
where it dives into the carpet and hides there
in the swirls of moth-eaten flowers and turquoise gaps.
The pathway it came down disappeared
and left it abandoned in the ruins, watching the stairs
it once so loved to climb
crumple into wisps of doubt.
What did the house look like before?
Does it still exist? Did it ever?
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