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I miss England so much right now, I cannot wait until i finally move there for good- Sorry America, i may have been born here. But my heart is somewhere else.

We are of few words

put into rooms for separate breathing.

Where our walls taught us how to hate the dark,

and how to plug our fingers in sockets.

Electric warmth,

we were etched into the carpets.

Were the stains of spilled mistakes and lust-



These walls saw our words.

These walls felt our backs against it's paint

never spoke as it watched us cry.

Sob and chant about a youth that knows only the knowledge they are granted.

It watched us closely

as we began to die.

It watched us fervently as we began to live as well.



When we realized we were stepping without our shoes.

When we discovered that our feet and fingers were hidden in it's skeleton.



We never understood.

That we were inside the walls,

while we watched ourselves waste away.

you taste so good after I've taken off your coat.

I'll hang you up on the rack

and let your body dry in the winter sun.

You'll glaze over with spit sweat.



But I wont bat my eyelashes,

or look the other way.

I'll watch your humiliation

and take notes like you've always told me too.

COMMENTS

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Dragonrouge
09:04 Jan 30 2012

Great poem!

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