in parentheses

defeat names itself in the dustballs in dark corners in dark halls,
croons with the creaking of floor boards
amongst the loudest silence and absence of breath,
whilst the October howls lace themselves
along windows that echo
sweet void into the rooms.
a solitary light flickers on the abandoned porch,
a beacon for nothing.
nothing is
the spaces between walls and turns,
stained in unseen manners
oozing in wretched stench,
polluting the air with the ailment of fault,
ill received.

gone lingers on countertops
littered with leftovers, crumbs, napkins aside
in bare relevance to the nothingness that pervades.
brittle is the atmosphere in the mourning of the tempest,
and it seeps into vessels, both inanimate and alive.
victory collects shade upon itself in closets and cabinets,
retired news articles for bedding with which it shares dust.
wind chimes chirp for nothing
cascading chimes of October
into the vastness
received open ended by nothing
but wallpaper
peeling in the fashion of
sweet void October.