I hear people say that
"Oh if these walls could talk, the stories they would tell"
With wry smiles
And wistful looks in their eyes
But my stories could never be told
By walls that see only in the light of day

My stories reside in the dark
With whispers that fly soft
On wings of thick velvet
From impassioned lips to ready ears
And with thoughts that are never fit
To be known by day

My sorrows drip like pitch from a bedframe
That rattles not with love
But with sobs so herculean that
They could rack the ribs of mountains
And drown the mighty
Rivers
In a deluge of raw emotion

My hysteria bubbles like a hidden pool
Deeper than can be seen
From a position on the surface
Nights when I tire
It explodes upward
With enough force to put fear in the hearts of those around me

My joy undulates like a thick wave
Heavy as the waves of land stirred up in
An earthquake
And can brush aside all in its path
As if the mighty hand of a vengeful god
Were seeking to punish all else
That stood in the way

My stories were born in the late of night
Among nights of tar
Crawling blind and untold
Because the sun would be too powerful
And might simply wash them away
Like flood waters wash away
Unsuspecting nations
And crush them 'neath the boot of values and respectability