if these walls had ears,
they’d wish they were deaf.
the agony they hear everyday
burns like acid through the paint.
the screams that echo
loud through these rooms,
tear apart carefully plastered
walls, underneath which,
lie cracks filled with ghost dreams.
if these chairs could see,
they’d wish they were blind.
they bear witness to massacres
of hearts and promises,
while stangers with thorns
for words drift in and out –
devastation trailing them,
like a well worn perfume.
if these pictures had voices,
they’d wish they were dumb.
because they don’t have
answers to questions i scream
at them at 2 in the morning,
when the facade slips and
the world spins a little faster.
is this the wine talking?
might explain the stains on
the carpet, or is that blood
from when I cry too much?
hysteria tarnishes carefully
painted smiles. it sniffs out
self loathing and laughs at
my pain.
if things around me had life,
they’d wish they didn’t.
i reak of death and brokenness,
everything i touch,
i turn to dust.
in search of venus 