ceilings become walls
walls become halls
halls have floors
floors have doors
doors that won't open no matter how hard I keep pounding on each one.
you always gave me these metaphors for your soul; for your body.
"You see, my love,
my mind is a ceiling and my brain turns on like its fan,
swirling round and round when thoughts of you arise.
That air, those thoughts,
start bouncing off of my inner walls,
they touch my eyes when they see you,
my ears when they hear you,
my lips when they taste you...
They all eventually lead to my halls...
arms and legs, you know.
They get the jitters.
I call them the halls because they are dead ends,
so you gotta turn around when my fingers start snapping
and fidgeting,
when my knees start shaking at the sight of you...
when I get cold feet...
Anyway, once you've turned around,
you'd find the flats.
The floors, my dear,
all starin' at the doors."
this is where you'd always trail off, but I knew what you'd meant
your tired soul was aching for those doors to be opened
never mind your thoughts and you limbs
and your sins
never mind your arms and legs and head and mental strains.
you'd always wanted your heart ripped wide open
so I politely knocked on these doors for you
but you never let me in
I rapped with a passion on each one
bur you never let me in
I started banging on these doors, desperate and longing for what was beyond
I was tired of peering through key holes
hoping that maybe my broken fingers might fit the slots
or finally turn the knobs
but you never let me in...

later that year, I came to the realization that you always left your window open
and this day, it was shut.
I walked to your door, and it was wide open
this door had floors
floors had halls
halls became walls...
...and I found you from the ceiling,
that fan would never turn on again.