bothersome pests lurk,
in the attic of my mind.
on my self control and sanity,
they have indulgently dined.
originating from a web,
designed by no one i know.
they uproot the embedded,
and make the unseen show.
doubts, fears, uncertainties,
a wish for -THE- trade.
trying to burn down the house,
that last year my heart made.
1 comment:
Last year was good - for the most part - the relationship part. Why tear down that house? Has it past its prime? Is there no give and take? Why the hurt in the poem?
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