Walls

A poem I wrote late at night, mostly about how I tend to talk to myself while facing walls alot when I'm alone.

I sit,
In my desolate room,
These walls,
Have watched my life,
They know me too well.

They seen my cries,
Seen the lies,
Seen everything I've done,
Yet they've never said anything.

But despite their slient reply,
And their thousand eyes,
They are the only thing,
That's ever listened to me.

And for that,
I give my eternal appreciation,
Cause even if it's in my mind,
I rather have that then die,
In this decaying body and brain of mine.

Author's Note

Isn't the best in the world but I don't mind criticism either way.