He asked me why we couldn’t do it in the basement.
The answer isn’t a simple one;
I couldn’t tell him about that poem you wrote me.
I blamed it on my irrational fear of spiders
To sidetrack his incessant inquisitions.
It was the only place I used to be able to be myself.
With trying to improve the area,
It turned into more of a hell.
The carpet feels like knives on my feet.
The ground is much colder than I remember it being.
A place that was once so dear and warm
Is now filled with empty wine bottles and full ashtrays
And a sewing machine that just represents
All that I’ve tried and never succeeded in.
I could hide this from him, but not from you.
Next time he asks if we could do it in the basement,
I should say sure, why not, because
It’s not like I have a past that will keep up the empty bottles and full ashtrays.
It’s time to face my irrational fear that has
Absolutely nothing to do with spiders.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 1:45 PM UTC
He asked me why we couldn’t do it in the basement.
The answer isn’t a simple one;
I couldn’t tell him about that poem you wrote me.
I blamed it on my irrational fear of spiders
To sidetrack his incessant inquisitions.
It was the only place I used to be able to be myself.
With trying to improve the area,
It turned into more of a hell.
The carpet feels like knives on my feet.
The ground is much colder than I remember it being.
A place that was once so dear and warm
Is now filled with empty wine bottles and full ashtrays
And a sewing machine that just represents
All that I’ve tried and never succeeded in.
I could hide this from him, but not from you.
Next time he asks if we could do it in the basement,
I should say sure, why not, because
It’s not like I have a past that will keep up the empty bottles and full ashtrays.
It’s time to face my irrational fear that has
Absolutely nothing to do with spiders.