The Moon Listens...

thin walls

I didn't mean to...
Their voices pricked my ears, their sorrows had my heart strung up like an out of tune guitar, Their sad stories strummed those sour notes into dancing tears.

They were at their throats again...
I hope to never know what it is to be lonely and unsatisfied when you're tied down to man that's supposed to love you until the day he died.

Curled into a ball...
Pitch black, hidden away in the darkness
Listening to their forbidden conversation, her anguish and pleading wasn't being read clear and he hurt her again.
He striked her not with his hands, but with his words. Typical and insensitive as he always was.

We miss him...
She never asks where he's been, as she spends her nights alone in bed. Memories of passionate love-making have been left for dead.
Alas, I admit it was not for me to hear,
It was an accident I swear.
As I write this their words ring in my skull ever so fierce.
But I cannot ignore the tugs of my heart's strings and the pricking of my ears...
Houses can't talk, but those very thin walls bear sad stories to hear,
By curious daughters with lonely fears.