Folded delicately in the corner of the room,
Limbs collapsed around each other,
Coordinated in the most triumphant defeat,
And holding the empty treasure chest loosely.

The corner is dark.

Perched gently upon trembling limbs,
Facing introspectively, hiding from sight,
But searching for the last piece of gold,
Or the last diamond hidden inside.

The corner is dark and lonely.

Holding up the crumbled shell,
Two porcelain feet jut out,
The tips curled over and cramped,
But not strained by its empty container.

The corner is dark, lonely, and cold.