Complicity

Wrote this in fifteen minutes very early this morning.

Evening, landlord. Are your studs upright

And rafters strong of limb and bedrooms warm?

And can you say your walls kiss close at corners

Or are there cryptic particles between?

Will our house be complicit? It's fair to ask.

I've lived and raged within, and now I need

Your reassurance that they're strong for me. 

My house is just another layer of skin, 

And happy houses know enough to bleed

When their tenants are cut. You see, it's true--

We all are cast as someone else's background.

We are but screens for life to flicker on. 

We paint each other's gardens like angry blooms

That fight and die in motionless wars of spite. 

Now can you be my background? Can you furnish

The colors I need behind me, unfolding bright

And broad the winged walls that urge my flight?

Are the doors and windows bolted safe and tight? 

Are the joists, the nails, the rafters strong tonight?

Please, when you find me, cut me down gently.

Reviews

[Muse]

We are very much like houses. Sometimes we are at the mercy of others to keep it together. Any relationship we acquire is like hiring a contractor I suppose. They can either make you or break you. Made vulnerable by each and every touch, words are like paint...perhaps some of us just need a little more primer. You haven't lost your gift for writing. This spoke to the core of me.

[VennelaMargame]

Thank you. You do realize it's about suicide, though?

[Muse]

In your mind's eye it means something to you. It still leaves it open to interpretation as the reader. That's what makes poetry to subjective.