Within these Walls
Faces of death stare against my raptured skin.
Silently, they watch me in frigid judgment.
I used to run from them in unholy matrimony,
Peeling the sins from my teardrops
Wishing they would
Just go away.
The brown-skinned disease normalized her penetrating,
Gaslit disgust against the smiles,
Against the faith
“YOU HAD IT COMING!”, she resounded in front of my Son…rise.
“All your fault”, the faces of death impolitely declared.
I begged for her abuse to end.
I pleaded for those faces to cease their stares against my coalescing wounds.
I prayed that the stars would let our friendship count to infinity.
But the brown-skinned disease could only count to 5150.
Terms & conditions no longer applied.
How would I ever escape?
How would I ever taste tears of joy again?
How would I supplant the bruises now invested in each heartbeat?
When would I stop apologizing for the harm she caused...?
I stared back at the faces of death.
“Not today!” “Not tomorrow!”
In this decrepit whirlwind of deceit
They smiled back at me, turning the other cheek.
“Stronger than yesterday”, they whispered.
I awoke from my descent into paralysis,
Listening to the gentle clacking of laptops,
The wistful choruses enunciated from the turntable…
…”No easy way out. I won’t back down. I’ll stand my ground.”
For my walls built
By the faces of death
Are meant to climb,
Not to confine
©Tacito
Copyright © Poet Tacito | Year Posted 2024
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