They are legion

he sings:
all he wants is nothing more
than to hear her knocking at his door.

& all i want is nothing more
than to be the one opening up my own.

she walks through streets of calmed anxiety,
a technique she has nailed into closed doors.

tranced, coffee sipping, malamente listening;
she lives in her mind for the hours she has to rest.

the summer soars; the light winds are for
whisking away the days til she returns.

though today she practices for the worser days,
she can’t help but realise these are more than okay.

i locked myself inside
so i can feel a sense of freedom

ironic isn’t it?

my room,
my space,
my thoughts,
my own little world

just a small room away from the stigma of this household that lies beyond that bedroom door

just a little something that isn’t yours to take along with the others you’ve already taken away

Windy torrents of water and thunders echo
against a silent brown house,
It's large grey doors open, shrill voices sing,
chandeliers burn...
more sounds are heard outside, like a wailing.
chandeliers burning the ceiling...
statue wax ivory figures melt, burning in their
passion, melting turned violet red they have become
hopeful, promises of painless joys, power over
wars, famine, disease and all things of darkness
are whispered in hushed "sincerity and truth"
but still vague and opaque.
Even now a banging of hail, leaves upon a pane
all the doors blow open now
and with a shriek all of wind in the drops are
scattered drenching, so even the mid morning rain
can still drip earth upon the clear white figures
revealing their true origin
rendered **** by what once made them.