Creaking

My Wooden Floors.

My floors are made of old wooden planks.
They creak and crack when I walk across them.
I recognize any of my relatives just by the sounds of the floors they walk upon.
Well, not that I hear them anymore...
I live alone now.
In this old creaky house.
No body visits me or gives me the friendly phone call now and then...
Just alone.
Not at nights though...
I feel happy at nights...
at least I can hear my relatives creaking across the floor they were buried under all these years...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is my first poem I posted :D It's a little eerie to start with but there are more to come :)

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