And as you walk down the pavements of your empty being,
noting every wrong bend,
every overgrown flower,
with the hedge looking a little too bushy,
noting nothing but the bad that surrounds you, you can only stop,
to give thanks to the mountains of endless windows,
trying best as they can to illuminate your darkness,
to paint a little hope to your dark being,
but that only makes you feel emptier,
no portrait is large enough to fit in perfectly,
or at least what you consider perfect.
No flowers are wild enough to crawl up your walls,
would you even let them do the colouring?
But you hate the windows,
with the same might, you hate yourself,
they only bring out your worst,
only makes your shadow greater,
bigger than you.
You wanna smash right through them,
let their pieces fall,
to the ground below,
mock yourself a little,
only then can you manage a smile.
but that would only bring in more light.
You wanna walk away,
but you rest your palms on the window pane,
and as you watch your pain walk right in,
the sun sets.
© feddiesharkhy

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