Coming back too late

Almost knowing I was here,
The house glooms darkly,
With searching eyes.
Windows, unwashed, door, too red.
Long path, tree shadowed.
She opens the wrong door
Of no longer home
On the wrong side.
No longer mine, or memories
No longer loved,
And they ask unasked questions,
Too many lies to keep track of.
Who am I?
Comes too quick,
And train whistles moan in the valley,
All so far and unimportant.
Forgotten quickly,
I don't know why,
And they have moved on.
Graveyard of spiders,
Childhood again, I look for mummy
Here, where I once was.
House, too old, me, too young,
Night light glimmer
Warped as untended webs,
Rough as wood, unopened,
Key slides into a knothole,
Flops, defeated.
This is rough.
Think with ache, slow ache of feet,
Catch the cats eyes.