My room is a mess.
Thoughts clutter the floor.
The things I've always wanted to say block the door.
And in the corner sits dreams of mine,
Dusty and abandoned.
Clinging to the hope that I have not completely forgotten.
Bursting from my wardrobe are the things I hide,
The things I would never tell a soul for fear that the collateral would hurt too much.
I've tried cleaning thousands of times,
But the mess never fails to return.
It's a vicious cycle.
YOU ARE READING
between the lines.
Poetryto learn who a person really is you need to look between the lines. "between the lines" is a collection of poetry, streams of consciousness, and other ramblings that serve as little keyholes into my mind.
