our walls hold the most secrets,
the pale, peeling ones,
the faded girly pink ones that you never got to repaint,
all stood listening to your thoughts of death when the clock strikes midnight
the blue, green and red,
they all hold the stories,
ones you never got to tell.
trapped in the bricks,
full of the mutations your mind creates.
-b.
YOU ARE READING
THE MOON WEEPS
Poetrypoetry // prose ( trigger warning. blood / suicide mentions & death hints ) [ ranked 8th in deep thinking 31/5/21 ] [ ranked 19 in poetry collection 13/6/21 ] [ ranked 101 in poetry 7/6/21 ]
