Grey Walls

You stare at me 

alone in an empty warehouse 

working on the face

that keeps you from sleep. 

It came to a point

where you scraped your brows with razors, 

leaving blood like a smirk,

and whispered to these grey walls 

that no one could touch you. 

When you thought of them 

you'd tell me they were nothing 

but scornful dogs,

and sprawl across the floor 

finding your worth again. 

I wonder why I am as inarticulate

as the smack of my spit on your face

and as vacant as the grey backdrop 

of the mirror that holds us.

It is quiet now,

and your heat passes.

I'll piece you together,

shard by shard,

to recall our name.  

Author's Note

I wrote the first stanza two years ago, with the second stanza being a current reflection of how things were back then. If it isn't clear, the poem discusses self-image, isolation/loneliness and identity.