Derealization

A window, cracked in sympathy,
Matching mirror’s splintered face.
Rippling mould malignantly seeping,
Bunching and coiling preparing to pounce.
The burning man still crouches,
Shrouded in a corner,
Staring through pictures in fragments of flame.
The walls are filled with faces,
And they’re still breathing.
Sitting hearing wall’s mumble,
“No such thing as tomorrow
Only eternity of now.”
Muttering back at them,
With glass eyes weeping.