The Walls.

Four of them.
I look around and think...
They are closing me in
But then i remember.
they're not

The single tear
gliding to the ground
landing with a plunk
That no one can hear but you
That single tear
sailing down your cheek
that tear
can tell its story
the story of heartbreak
death
sadness
life and loss
That single tear
that you friends and family
can see with clarity
they will know
the story of that tear
as soon as they see it slide
down your pale face
just that one glistening tear
says it all

When I die, dear Mother
don't give my body away
to science.

I'd rather have it given away to poetry.

I want people to cut me open
and observe
how my bones were riddled with
melancholic verses of joyful pasts.

They have to see
the scarlet of my blood was the hue
I stole from the sunsets of
wishful thoughts.

Dear Mother,
give my body away
to the art of writing:
for they have to look past
everything they have ever learned.

They must know
of how much I loved and I lost,
and how that made the twine of my ribs
a story to tell.

My raw feelings sing
Out in harmony yet I
Ignore them to live.