a poem

The walls have ears.

But the silence within your house gives them nothing. No stories to pass onto dwellers on the other side.

The cracks they bear reveal no insight to the strangeness of your behavior

The eyes that peek through see you lain against your dining chair, arm strung out as they were yesterday

as they will be tomorrow.

The dust on your head gathers, your eyes are an ocean filled with tears.

If only their eyes could look further in, and bear witness to the brokenness, your heart the truest casuality.

One day, you’ll pick yourself up.

One day.

But today marks again in the misery cycle, and your battered heart crawls on.

The walls have ears, but from you, they have no story to gain.