Writings on the wall



Years, I have spent years

Looking at the walls 

Of this tatterdemalion citadel 

Splattered with my innards 

And bleeding heart 

Years, I have seen just one colour, 

This indigo muck paint on my hands

And Papers on the wall 

Saying the same things,

Different words, 

In want of what?

Sympathy?

 Empathy ?

Attention?

Compassion?

Years , I have spent years, 

Almost seven,

Sitting at this table

Now my hands tremble

And it’s tempting to drop that pen

Never write, never feel, never think

And never spell a word again

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