I’ve tired-out the covers
And grown sick to all the lies
Now I sit and soak in shudders
Fixing up my mind.
It’ll take a more courageous act
Than trying to seem calm
But in all realities I just want to slam against a wall
And crack open the paint
Along with everything underneath.
You can crawl into your hole if you fold your head between your knees
Someone else can patch the breach up.
It’ll be better than before.
There are no windows when you live inside a wall
There are no doors.
You can’t do much inside the inside of a home
But it’s great to think
When the house lay deep in sleep and no one hears a single creak
You can sob inside your hole and not a soul will say a word
But rats don’t give good hugs
You’ll find that walls will lack in comfort.
Because as quiet as it might be
And as freeing as it sounds
You’ll be more tightly trapped
in all your thoughts
than you had ever found.
When you crack the paint and leave the safe containments of your nest
You’ll find that hiding doesn’t fix a thing
That pain is for the best.
YOU ARE READING
The Tea: Spilt and Bitter
PoetryThe Tea ~ A Collection of Rants & Poems As long as I can remember, life has always seemed sort of poetic to me: Walking home down a street that looks empty, maybe sad, with a look on your face that shows your deepest thoughts of the day...
