I just wrote into the post new thread box. I haven't written anything in months, and this is just forcing myself to write something on the off chance I'll kick this writer's block. Crit for Crit.

Hermit Crabs

Every door in this house creaks. Every nook has a spider.
The windows haven't been washed in years.
All the 'goodbye's we fingerpainted into the dust are still legible.
The bathroom mildew has devoured the grout,
and every floor board has buckled or decayed.
The banister still has our hieghts carved into it,
but we have to look down to notice them.

We must have shed this place like dead skin.
A husk of people we used to be
deteriorated, abandoned, and faded.
My car pulls away, and you look back and say
"Home is where the heart is, filled with value and worth.
This is just an empty chest."
Very gloomy but i guess that' what you were going for?
To me this piece seemed like it was about visiting a childhood home and knowing that you can't go back to it.
All the 'goodbye's we fingerpainted into the dust are still legible - prolly my favourite line in the whole piece.
Did you write this from experience?
Yeup. You nailed it. It's about looking back on an aspect of your life and realizing that going back to it would be a waste of time.