The secrets I buried
Invisible
When you come to visit
The house I built
You see the wild gardens
Filled with Roses
Strong from blood and sacrifices
Simply beautiful to your dulled naked eyes
You'll sit in my living room
Have a smoke and ask where I got my pillows
As ghosts walk through and stop to look at you
The warmth of the fireplace holding you tight
You'll walk to my bedroom
Tell me you love the sweet sticky smell of candles I lit
The feeling of the covers, my skin
The little fairy lights that cover my ceiling
But you don't know the monsters in my closet
I can't show you the bones that hold up this grieving refuge
My pain and decay under the foundations
You will never know
You are a guest
I'm so tired of people being insensitive and apathetic towards others' plights when they talk to me. They assume because I am happy now that I did not suffer before. That I was never a victim in the hands of those they so easily brush aside or worse, justify. They do not know what it took to build myself. But I cannot tell theem anyway, they will never understand.
