you wouldn't know

because of who i am,
i sort of get this way.
where my head wraps around one f*****g thing
and i sprout so many conclusions and assumptions.
Nothing is clear
and i fight like mad with myself for days, hours, minutes, years.

I feel like i've been housed on a hill
with gardens of illusions and forget me not promises.
The walls are thick with history
and the floors are paved with shared expierences.
there is no food.
there is only water
and it's from my eyes.
tea cups are hung up on the walls.
painted, bone china tea cups.
with names, dates and cracks.
the windows are never locked
the doors arn't either.
i just know nobody will ever come up that hill.

the tea cups start breaking though.
with me just sitting there.
staring at them.
powder and shards all over that floor (of ours).
i start pushing those thick walls with my back
on the shards and my feet on the walls.
i start pulling up the floor
like i'm looking for the dead bodies
i thought were beneath it.

the gardens are dying.
i never leave the house.
i watch them starve from the windows.
like i starve from the gardens.

bone china blood on my face,
and you've just added another addition...
silent
and i couldn't find you
though i heard your hammers and your nails
drive me right back in.

over my bed, you hung a clock
and no matter how many times i smash it
i can still hear it ticking.
at me.