You are glue dried onto palms,
A sheer layer over skin.
I cannot turn the faucet on,
Slowly giving in.
"Honey you weren't home
And the roof wouldn't stop leaking"
You simply stood beneath the ooze,
Under an opened umbrella.
As if temporary solutions solve permanent problems
As if the sky isn't falling through my ceiling
As if I'm not soaking in this solemn
As if I'm not sobbing
You threw me a towel, and said:
"Dry it"
But there is so much water
It floods around each ankle,
it seeps into the towel
I offered pots and pans
I went to grab a ladder
If you just gave me a hand
We could've slathered on some plaster
You watched me scrub helplessly
Mopping up tsunamis
The towel growing heavy
Completely reaching it's capacity
The third time that week
You gave that same speech:
"There is no other way
to repair a leaking ceiling."
-Party Ghost
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Party Ghost
PoetryNeed a break from the noise? The ultimate survival guide to being socially awkward is here. Read into the mind of the poetry party ghost, a fellow playing the fly-on-the-wall to an assortment of situations in the world. Hear them ramble about all yo...
