Walls
Once, I nearly crossed that line,
twice, I nearly slept.
Three times, my mind was torn apart,
I carried on — and kept.
For years I feared the papered walls,
where hidden monsters bite.
For longer, I kept all walls bare,
and painted over white.
Now ghosts look down from wooden frames,
old faces caught in light.
And oil-dark sirens haunt the walls,
too beautiful to fight.
The bed I bought, I cannot use,
I rest where I belong.
When night creeps in, the dead come too,
and keep me up till dawn.
I miss her in the quiet rooms,
but miss you even more.
The walls keep every wound I framed,
the couch is keeping score.