Mask it with a high ceiling.
One where you can hear the echoing.
Let it sit and grow.
Just never let it show.
Keep it buried on the inside.
So the outside doesn't look like someone died.
Use it to laugh and make fun.
Happy over the few battles won.
But over time it fixes itself to the space.
It turns restless trying to escape the place.
Instead of controlling it it gets out in episodes.
Leaves you to paralyzed at crossroads.
The substance is malicious.
Eating away at anything delicious.
Your inside is now an empty vase.
Look in the mirror and see what's on your face.
YOU ARE READING
The Welting Chess Board
Poetryjust a collection of quick thoughts with some long term emotions |(letter)| = certain people it's made out to btw read a bit and enjoy
