On the darkest days these walls would hear my exhausted sighs.
Silence would rip apart the space where my heart has cried.
Madness is my mentor and these walls would surely hear me try.
Talking to myself they hear my lies;
I spend too much time complimenting my lack of sanity filled eyes.
And today scattered on the floor lay my mind.
Within the strokes I’m painting not only to pass time.
Each color -every line the blackness inside unbinds.
If the walls could hear what I’m hearing they’d hear my spirit shrieking.
So I resort to picking up a paint brush and painting.
’Cause when my heart kisses the canvas I’m no longer deteriorating.
Daytime dreaming -you see the darkness is fading.
The walls will tell you they hear my fears receding.
In the canvas my soul is healing.
But surely the walls also see it bleeding.