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
aphroditeanderson 