Red, red, red, that's all I see
I can't fight the imaginary figure suffocating me
There's anger toward my mind and it's unrelenting walls
Anger towards my hand which only writes and draws
There's anger at this floor and that shelf
But even I can admit the anger's mostly at myself
The whole house is full of anger that I can't deny
I've made myself a stranger, I was dying inside
I'm the only one who can see these pulsating walls turn red
The thought of another seeing me messes with my head
I curl up in a ball because I see through the façade
I see it in the way they walk, this house is undoubtedly mad
A/N: I made this one in Arizona, too. I just felt like everyone was mad for some reason or another, even me. Honestly, it was pretty dumb.
YOU ARE READING
The Weeping Woods
PoetryAgony in the form of stanzas, words in the form of little silent cries. I made the cover but I don't own any of the pictures. !There's also quite a bit of explicit language!
