The world is slowly shutting down,
my heart has already packed up for the night,
the sign flipped,
"Closed".
Because how can you stay open if your life has no regulars,
I don't speak of customers, no,
I speak of loved ones.
SEE THE PEOPLE I LOVE THEY ALWAYS LEAVE,
SO I HAVE TAUGHT MYSELF TO RUN AWAY AS SOON AS I FEEL THE FADING.
This is my wall.
My protection.
Brick by fucking brick, the mortar was made out of insecurity and misplaced love, strong enough to keep anyone and everyone who wanted to tear those bricks down,
out.
And I did leave a doorway, with a sign,
"Help Wanted".
See,
the wares are set on the counter spaces, in cabinets, in boxes,
baggage.
And no one wants to unpack baggage.
Not unless they get some gold in return.
It's not love. Not a pretty face.
Nor do I have either one, I don't believe.
I sit in a room full of boxes that read,
Abuse, Anger, Pain,
and my favorite and most treasured box,
"People who left me".
.......
YOU ARE READING
In a Few Years
PuisiDid you mention your hair is down to your ridged back, now, sprawled over the inkworks that mask your skin? Did you forget to cut it short again or did you . . . . . . .
