Four Walled Friends

Against

the four walls of my mind,

a brutal consciousness

rebounds between each surface.

Collecting pieces of dust as it goes;

remnants of my past misdeeds.

Patterns shining upwards

from the tear dyed pillow

on which my head has been planted.

-

Within

the four walls of this room,

my reflection stares at me in chipped white paint.

I find foolish company in

echoes of nothingness,

listening like a deaf man, to the unfiltered silence.

I avoid eye contact with the sadness

that is curving inwards,

burning a cigarette sized hole into my soul.

-

Beyond

the four walls that encroach me,

are outstretching arms.

I see skin rolling like sand dunes,

of all the faces that will embrace me.

Striped without cruelty

and without tears

my bare feet

will be accepted by the grass on which I walk.

-

Through

the concrete,

I carve my way out. I feed myself a new life

where the air I breath

is no longer from a paper bag.

Yet, my back will ache

from the eyes beating after me

and before me

as though I am falling into a love that I expect to hurt.

-

Inside

these four walls,

I return to the comfortable torture.

It is easier to be lost

amongst a mess of other's lostness

and hot, weighted sighs -

Where the ground beneath me is bruised

from all the broken souls

that have walked upon it.