This is the house of the wilted flower
the broken dream.
memories of what has been
have her bound and gagged,
without mercy,
images of fights and words
hang in the cobwebs.
the walls are silent watchers
witnessing, a cancer.
In their shelved mockery of innocence
dust gathers on the hair and dresses
of three dolls, one of them has a broken face,
(writer insinuates).
the truck with a broken wheel, next to
the drunken nutcracker and his menacing stare and white beard,
surrounded by German beer maid characters,
worn away, like the rug walking up the stairs
and into the hallway,
passed the piano with it's broken keys
and other memorial clutter of a traditional upbringing.
back in that room, things have happened,
i dont even want to imagine
it's just like drowning, the feeling.
so how can there be indulging?
it's just a question, without answers
life can be heard into whispers,
make no eye contact
submersed in fears,
itch the scab a little longer
perhaps,
it will start to bleed, for you-
Sitting here this morning, skipping school for the like of staying up or out too late, drinking coffee so I may eventually find my way to the books, I stumble upon something that is you and your style to a T. It appears to make me guilty for not going to class in the sense that I will miss out learning how to write like this. On the other hand it makes me more than glad I read it for now I know. Everything in here makes me want to cry. Everything about you as the writer makes me want to smile. Your beauty and talent are immense.
This was so profound I’m finding it difficult to express myself in words (ironically enough) but I think the idea that this is true and tangible makes it a masterpiece all on it’s own.
We should, one day perhaps, write together…
i have read this one several times and each time i hope to feel different- but i don't and i don't think i will. you know the "visions" or " feelings" i told you about- when i read these words? well this one is intense, some of it feels like it is not about someone else at all. i feel the pain behind the words and the vision is not pretty either. but you let it all out freely my love, such naked emotion.
god , i love it- not the pain-the talent.
your biggest fan-
-baby girl