I PAINT MY WALLS WITH WORDS

WALLS WITH WORDS

I paint my walls with words

’cause every color seems so dull

and the paint coating seems to pull

off the face of rigidity and silence;

never bright and often gray

sometimes black, but that’s okay.

I paint my walls with words

’cause every picture doesn’t seem to animate

and all the lines aren’t so straight.

Against their will their faces fade

away and leave smiles so pale

always broken, still it’s okay.

I paint my walls with words

’cause every inch of concrete seems so fake

and every minute piece of it I hate

for its coldness and indifference

to my cries of help and innocence

no one to hear, nothing to feel.

I paint my walls with words.

With crimson ink I use my fingers

to carve all the bloody letters

out of their lonely worlds

and put an end to their life

that severely rots within;

to replace self-pity with strife

and erase everything in between.

I paint my walls with words

’cause I see all the letters dance before my eyes

and hear then scream as they bleed to death!

As I burn all these papers, the fire wildly consume

every thought of life and freedom and sanity

and dreams I have long forgotten.