alone
with the wall and i
the wall and i
communicate
without words
but with a solemn gaze
that never tears away
and a mutual understanding
i can hear it say
"what's it going to be today?"
as i paint it orange
with the melancholy light
"same old"
my wall of sixteen years
the only constant
as a weeping child
who hid their pink painted limbs
perhaps my own insanity
drives me to think
this wall hears my tears
so i stare
