The walls can talk.
Caving in, drowning me in sorrows.
I pray they don’t know I can hear it too.
Shooting up at night, I swear something grabbed my wrist,
A black shadow disintegrated into mist.
A shadow close to mine, a face with grim and pride that I finally listen.
The voices want to listen, oh how they grew.
A room that used to be mine, now new.
An opened pill bottle, its contents on the floor,
A beam
Of light trickles through the door,
the vicious bone-shattering
Scream.
I don’t believe in wonders.
I always checked under my bed for monsters,
But never further.
I never looked into the mirror.
YOU ARE READING
When Your Card Gets Declined At Therapy | Poetry Collection Part 1 ©
Poetry... so they bring up the poems you wrote instead. © All written by me 2022 - 2024 Fay Willows
