I Guess the Walls Look Warmer Now:
Empty boxes in the front yard
crafting shelves and a bed
inside of those stone brick walls
where I slowly forget those who kept me fed
and think only about who I met back then
dressed in black, woven silk
fell for whispers, but never saw the distance
paint the walls with whatever comes to mind
tape the flowers to the wall, can't afford a vase
ashamed,
but you don't mind
When I excuse for the quiet
take a blanket and dye it
red or green or whatever you prefer
to lie inside,
to keep you warm,
I guess red looks warmer
tongues fall apart
but you keep sitting at the table
that I crafted out of glass from the bottles that you emptied
pretend not to see the cracks and the shards beneath
nothing but fake smiles to disguise the despise in your eyes
When I excused for the nail that punctured my tongue
you replied: "There are words abound stuck in my lungs"
Stuck indeed, never relieved,
first a kitchen knife
then quick stabs through your chest,
words form a flood or is it just blood?
Deafening screams before you stop to breathe,
gaping cuts, now your eyes stay shut,
mine never opened
