It’s days like these –
When your walls come crashing in,
And you don’t know whether
You’ve been seen before you’ve been heard –
When It matters where the rubble falls.
Because no one knows what pain looks like.
They only see the devastation left in its wake.
The path of your past that stalks your fate,
And crumbles to dust at your back.
Do we stand beneath a tidal wave
Of breaths that fall from the nearest tree
Of insincerity,
When truth presents itself again?
Or do we climb to the lowest point,
And believe that the souls above our heads
Blend with the stars that draw us into their beauty,
Only to realise, we’ve been hanging upside down by a million threads?
The world spins backwards
For those who tip toe the edge.
Because they’re used to collecting the holes
That are drilled deeper into their lives,
Because of shouting scars
That became heavier than the iron in their hearts.
Because they attempt to stay aboard the sinking ship,
When they know that their fingers
Only grasp for so long.
And that before the deck hits the ocean,
The bar they clung to snapped.
And no matter how much you scrape the sky clean
In order to savour the sun for a couldy day,
The rain that eradicates your tears,
No longer believes in you.
Amy Elizabeth Poetry 