It hides behind that shoddy wall
of confidence, blaming the spaces
between the poorly mounted panels
for what it can't see. Eyes creak
and ears sneak to avoid the hammering
and nails that offer help, yet behind the curtain
of fear are cracks and breaks
that want to be seen, and wrong tunes
that want to be heard. It trembles
whenever it hears the knock on the door
for to admit that the impurities are too much,
meant this bastion had crumbled
before the first brick was laid.

Instead it runs.

The knocks get louder and each step
echoes the lies that fell out its maw. The stairs
grip to each ridge of the sole, forcing it down
the same **** path, retracing hidden walls
and breaking ancient locks. The memories are rusted
and the wishes covered in mold and mildew.
A look inside this unrecognizable stain
of something once so warm and benign.
The truth was the foundation,
but the lies were weather
and no care was taken
as everything withered
away.

Yet it still grips at those shards
of confidence. It blames its absence
for all it now sees. It blames the truth
for the ground now covered in glass.
It blames the lies for the cuts on its feet,
but it never blames itself for building
this failure of wood and concrete.