His favorite nook .

Blotched skin
A hideous grin
Grotesque scars
And a burst of tears

It was a new morn, but, why was it so dark?
Where was the sun? Where?
Had it committed suicide? I shuddered.
Was it murdered?
Ah, there it was!
Reflected in the azure waters
Of a painting, hanging
Banging, clanging desolately against a lonely wall
Of a hastily abandoned house.

Where was the house owner?
Ah that loner?
He was roaming the crowded streets of life
Breathlessly recalling his favorite nook and cranny
And his long dead granny
Sunning herself in the patio of that house sunlit.
The house, once home.
Alas , now , he does nothing but roam.

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