Painting Baseboards

(I actually wrote this a few years back, but recently tweaked and edited it)

An empty house with walls of white,

echoed breath and fire light.

Alone, I wonder where you are,

brushstrokes soothe like a strumming guitar.

Repeated motion of comfort and gloom,

I slowly move from room to room.

The task at hand to block the pain,

as questions arise, what will remain?

And still belief in the night so dark,

sustaining my will to paint it stark.

Cover the wood and make it clean,

quiet effort, complaisant routine.

I step outside to clear my head,

a deep breath in holds words unsaid.

My body aches and seeks to rest,

on a concrete floor, a mind obsessed.