Again, still.

The corners slept shrouded by the shadows,
their breathing the whispers of the night.
His broken spirit lay wounded
while his too-long legs dangled over
the side of his too-small bed.
No longer did the ghosts of his past haunt him
but the ones of his present stayed the night instead.
Curling up by his closet, they leaned their heads on the wall
and closed their eyes, as if they were asleep.
But their whispers joined the corners'
in a song of guilt and shame.

She had tried reaching for forgiveness,
but it was just too far away.
So she sat on her polka-dot bedspread
and listened to the wind tap on her window.