The wallflower shrivels
Into a ball of burning hate
I don’t know why she’s come to this
Perhaps the water came a bit too late
Perhaps the sun came down a tad too bright
Perhaps too long lasted lonely night
Perhaps so long went on the drought
That abundance brought on only doubt
Now the wallflower shrivels,
Assumes that it’s fate;
And if it always was to come to this
Why bother with the wait?
Between the real and the unreal
There exists a thin divide
But between what I think and what I feel
I find myself on the wrong side.
Frantically, she tore up the floorboards. “It has to be here!” she half-screeched, as she darted to and fro, searching different places. In the end, she collapsed, crumpling into a heap in the middle of what was left of the floor. Her bleeding fingers pulsed with pain, a reminder, and her glazed eyes wandered to one of the places where she’d torn up the wood. There should have been something underneath of it. A secret passage, a beating heart, a hidden stash with all the answers in it. Dirt, even. She would’ve taken dirt. But instead there was nothing. Just the void, that endless dark. “There should have been SOMETHING,” she whispered, eyes tearing up. “But there wasn’t,” her mind hissed back. Instead of crying, she began to laugh; a mad laugh. The darkness didn’t end at the floorboards.
I told myself that I was more together
But all this time I’ve just been damaged
And every time I pulled away
I claimed was so as not to end up bandaged,
Not realizing that only pain
Could be the reason that I sit here ravaged
By a fear that will not go away
Of the loneliness I’ve barely managed.
My breath has been replaced with lead
And I’ve a soul that now is nearly dead
And a heart that for too long has bled
On the field of raging war inside.
No one sees the battles every day
Where each side claws to keep their foe at bay
But I can feel the casualties, in that same way
You know that someone dear to you has died.
But I am forced to hope it’s not so sad
That maybe there’s freedom to be had
And it won’t just leave two sides half mad
Wondering who can be right when both sides lied.
I see you tugging at the threads
And I laugh at my own pain;
Oh, my little fool…
You’ll understand when you’re insane.
There’s so many things I can’t express
So I leave you to understand me less and less
And I like to think I’m helping, but I know
I’m only helping us die our deaths slow
We each are sleeping out our dream
Waiting for a waking scene
Hoping for a time to come
When we’re more than what we see or seem.
I wonder if I have a soul —
You tell me that I must;
For who would care to question
If they did not care first?
But the more I try to think of it,
The more it hurts my brain;
For what if all the things I feel
Amount to only phantom pain?
Did you lose them on a walk?
Did you drop them down a well?
Come, my dear fool, talk!
We’ll find out where they fell.
Did you lend them to a friend?
Did they crunch beneath your boot?
It must’ve been an ignoble end
For you’ve turned into a mute!
What, did you lose them to a vat of rum?
Were they stolen by a ghost named Fred?
You needn’t look so vexed for them —
They’re there upon your head!