Inside these crumbling walls

Crying out for some kind of God

That doesn’t exist yet,

Lying here

Crumpled and lifeless 

On the bathroom floor,

Peel me away from myself

So that I can extract 

This overbearing consciousness 

from my every waking breath,

Built these walls and this sink

And these tiles

Upon sunken soil,

Beaneath a crumbling roof,

And painted it white and blue

And called it home

To house the disruptive reasoning,

Slammed a sledgehammer 

Into the foundations

And started anew,

Without consulting or consolidating any other soul,

Slammed down a padlock,

Secured the scope

and called it home,

To wash and flush

My tainted soul

Of the sins of an unsure mind

That trips into puddles

Of self-contaminated riddles

That I can never seem to clean and dry off

2 thoughts on “Inside these crumbling walls

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