Monday, September 8, 2008

Restructured

These walls,
hold their secrets.
These walls,
hold their breath as so they may hear.

Anemic, they are brittle.
This hollow shell acting as my guard.
I can't see beyond my own blindness,
these tattered and broken walls.

Yellowing paper and chipped paint
hug the floor cheerfully.
Aged like cheap wine.

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