Grey wall, contents

A plastic plate,

an empty space,

a story of the three.

Mouths joined

in telling lies

paper dolls

Kept insane

falling under the lightest rain.

Yellow walls of plastic promise,

bathroom doors

silent upon us.

Carpet stained,

drained by old nights.

The universe disintegrates –

sky

why

I am no astronaut.

Not.

Drinks got spilled

in the layers

of dust, rotten things,

lost whispers

crumbled under your skin.

Your touch – sandpaper.

Pieces

the topography of thoughts

labyrinth

choking on my dreams

corridors of my head

fading into radiance.

Laugh

drown in a bath.

I am the house,

the scream,

the silence

playing drums in his ears

louder

stains on his breath,

unspoken words

ghosts in my head.

I am fluent

in silence.

Cut me open

see

holes in the roof

hanging from a trunk

flesh bare

in the water.

The staggering feeling

a pinch of regret,

lurking from the closet,

emptying shelves

the spitting image of

everything

I never

want to be.

Place where I can

safely fall apart

after you wished me

goodnight

the words rustling

headless

heavy

covers of not being.

Variations of words

a kid’s pink notebook.

Rewritten.

Reshaped.

Under a brown blanket

of forgiveness,

my mother’s smile

summer and a chocolate shake.

To the sofa and the chair,

the window and the stairs,

the study room and the loft.

To my mother’s soft voice,

your pitch black eyes,

bright nights,

running away

and out of breath.

Unspoken

never published

turning my name

into nothing more

and nothing less

than a bruise

of absence

on his tongue.

I dissolved

into a

grey wall

un de co ra ted.