The walls are safe yet keep me confined
They're just walls yet somehow they look dry
Yellow nicotine stains and grey dust
Peeling wallpaper in the shape they call love
Nicotine is predictive
It keeps you addicted
Yet stains your lungs and everything around it
Everything around it
Second hand smoke fills my lungs
Floating through them in shapes they call love
The walls hear all
they're always there
But are they comforting or controlling
I cannot tell
Maybe they're both
Maybe their neither
Do they really hear me or is this a delusion
Either way i wish they weren't stained yellow
I wish they weren't shriveled and dry
I wish they didn't see me cry
What will be revealed
when the wallpaper peels
Will there still be shapes of love
Or will there be spears of hate
Or drops of sadness
Will there be lines of resentment
Maybe there will be all of them
Or maybe
It will be blank
with no nicotine stains or dust or shapes or love or hate or sadness or resentment or
wallpaper or anything to show its there and exists and is alive or will stay and not crumble and not just collapse and never stand again never stand in front of me and be there to comfort me or control me it doesn't matter because it wont be there
.
.
.
.
.
Just a blank wall
Just a blank wall
But spears and drops and lines are still shapes
Maybe they are the shapes of love
Please anything but a blank wall
YOU ARE READING
Sad Things For Sad Days
PoesieThese are just sad things I write. There's a few random paragraphs of just writing, but it's mostly poetry. I'm not sure whats gonna be in here exactly, but most of its depressing so if you have and triggers like self-harm, suicide, abuse, anorexia...
