A Poem by Pleasantly_Furious

You come clean by the window
I look around this room
there are antique dolls with missing
frayed hair
chocolate stained dresses
magnolia stenciled borders
artificial forget me nots
And you, are planted smack in the middle
As always, it is you that brings me here
Every tired phone call you make has
words bouncing in frequency
I am on the line,
more ways then one
The Southern heat,
a monster
peels the paint off our walls
But sometimes I catch you in
the crime of self infliction
and then I study you,
and find chips of white paint
underneath your nails
There is no godly thing that
can wash this away
nor bring us closer to an
end or severed tie
And the window won't open
because when we coated it,
we shut it too soon
so it sticks to the framework
and is only an illusion of
our happiness
I have noticed,
our heirloom chain around your neck
and the kink that ruins it
I aim to fix it,
without strangling you with
mother's pearls in the process

© 2017 Pleasantly_Furious

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Added on April 7, 2017
Last Updated on April 7, 2017




"It is a terrible thing to be so open: It is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world" -S. Plath more..