The darkness

Our author has vacated the premises;
the rent being well overdue.

Nothing here but crusts of moldy bread,
something green at the back of the fridge,
the fruit-flies long abandoned the joint,
only those scuttery cockroaches remain.

The darkness finally took over.
The days had turned blacker than night

To continue was a mockery.
A shell game with no pea to play.
The cards long ago shuffled to dust.
What used to glide smoothly
became frozen with rust.
And the thing I feared most
was the clear light of day.

The darkness finally took over.
What's left is the blackest of nights.