His eyes do not love mine.
They sift through doorways
and down rolling hills
through raging storms to scenic views.
I am the paint beneath the wallpaper
the eyesore to his taste.
Living in two different worlds
Where I savor the softness in
his eyes and he, he walks to
pick flowers for another dame.
Walking to find my inner soul screaming for an out
Tip toeing through the wet paint through the most recent mural made
Skip to content