It's just how it is.
Sorry.
Condemned,
like a building no longer fit
for habitation,
where the dry rot has spread to our hearts
and the termites are the tiny monarchs
of our crumbling ambitions.
When I was a child,
we always thought such houses
to be haunted.
Maybe our young selves
heard an echo of some truth;
that a haunting was coming.
Not for these broken-windowed wrecks
but for us.

Sorry.
It's just how it is.

Sleep tight.

Ben No

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sweet-childhood-memories/