Write about a window or whether what is outside it.
Do you care to know what is behind it?
The pressure in my pipelines, full like veins, will burst to expose why I’m so insane.
Transparent panes slickly showcase schemes and ricochet rain.
After these walls, may weather greet me.
May breezes be slices to my exposed flesh
-contradicting the weather forecast.
Does any of this make any sense?
Dear sky, sob onto me , let our wails be seamless.
Only coat is overcast and
opinionated white skies see through white lies.
What may or may not be true is a disguise.
It is a room that I’ve lived in with mywhole life.
Two windows to beyond my body:
spiritually unpredictable and mentally bombarding.
I’ve painted my panes with my pains.
Me to me, you’ve been trusted to guard the clinically deranged.
Send my compliments to my chest.
Oh heart, heal your best.
Opaque fragility to me is invisible to you.
You’re outside looking inside through my insides, and mistaking my tears for pesticides.
Is it possible to compost my toxins to be used at a later time?
After the sun is down, can I use them then?
and what was a peek into, is a tinted mirror, reflecting the intestines of my room.
So when I look outside this window, I meet me and I’m forced to choose: avoid me or confront the room.