The line I copied out was the one about the memories growing back up through the floor with the roots round your ankles. We had bindweed come up between the flagstones by the kitchen door for years, you could pull a whole length of it out in June and it would be back by August, so I know what that looks like. The last line is the one that stays with me though, the cage with no windows that still lets the cold in. Do these come out in one go, or do you go back to them?
love became a widow
Thought
Thought
The line I copied out was the one about the memories growing back up through the floor with the roots round your ankles. We had bindweed come up between the flagstones by the kitchen door for years, you could pull a whole length of it out in June and it w
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Claustrophobic,
every breath scratches my lungs
walls are getting closer now
like a choir of unsung tongues
This room became a coffin
painted with the ash of doubt
and every prayer I whisper
comes back inside my mouth
.
My love became a widow
dressed in black beneath the rain
crying every single night
like she was married to my pain
.
The key to my freedom
is the death of all illusion
cut the wires from my veins
disconnect the confusion
If heaven built this prison
then hell left me the proof
I keep digging through the dark
searching for a missing truth
.
No windows for redemption
no light beneath the door
just reflections of the man
I don’t recognize anymore
I hear the ceiling breathing
hear the silence grind its teeth
another ghost inside my bloodstream
pulling nails beneath my feet
.
And she still mourns tomorrow
before the sunrise even starts
holding flowers made of sorrow
over the grave inside my heart
.
I buried all my memories
but they grew through the floor
roots wrapped around my ankles
till I couldn’t move anymore
And every lie they sold me
still echoes in my skull
like a broken hallelujah
from a world already null
.
The key to my freedom
is accepting I was broken
every scar a language
that nobody ever spoke in
Claustrophobic silence
still hanging from the roof
but now I wear the darkness
like a self-inflicted truth
.
A cage without windows…
still somehow lets the cold get in.
Thoughts
-
The line I copied out was the one about the memories growing back up through the floor with the roots round your ankles. We had bindweed come up between the flagstones by the kitchen door for years, you could pull a whole length of it out in June and it would be back by August, so I know what that looks like. The last line is the one that stays with me though, the cage with no windows that still lets the cold in. Do these come out in one go, or do you go back to them?
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Claustrophobic,