where does an old blog go?

where does an old blog go?
an old blog hangs like an old sign,
outside an empty hotel,
full of empty rooms,
squeaking in the rusty, dusty wind,
an empty house,
like an empty heart,
it used to be a busy place,
full of ideas,
creative hands,
dancing footsteps and music,
lines and verses,
rhymes and curses,
traversed like a busy highway,
coming and going, 
connecting and separating,
closing and opening,
to an unpredictable world,
of panic and peace,
health and disease,
promises of salvation,
then the hidden fees,

a old blog is a punch,
a kiss,
a push, 
a pull,
a build up and a tear down,

a place to take a thought,
write it down,
throw some words around it,
because you like the sound,

an old blog is a journey that need not go far,
an old blog is a drink in a late night bar, 
it's what's left when I subtract,
the way I want things to be,
from the way they are,
an old blog is the light from a dying star.