broken window

the threshold of my broken window fought with itself last night,

it can never manage to close

that's when i heard a song whistled by the wind, 

it went sort of like:

' my soul is compromised

give me a new one,

for I've lost my face, my nose, and my eyes.

i fear not the dark, nor the bite

what i fear are wordless lips and empty eyes '

under that home with no soul

the walls spake to me, said let go, enter me

as i did i saw too did my brethen

they were further along in the walls

i sought their names but no reply, 

with glassy eyes.

and this girl told me her fear of inefficient people,

their incapability of following the thread of linearity

but when i see a face with no face i stumble upon a fear of the unfold closing, a shudder goes through my neckbone 

inhasp i can hardly breathe

eyes wide throat stuck

i have nothing to say to your work toward brick walls and intricate halls

this matter is one more subdued,

and it seems that no matter how much i Know

i can see it constantly trying to close,

so i fear that broken window

the sick part of it all is you'll find it to be i 

applying plaster and tape and investing in all sorts of things in tears

after which i hear the wind again right before its close 

infused with hope wrench it again open

but one day my eyes might become too glassy to shed any real tears

what if one day, their whites much too dry from being inside,

that wind of the unfold gets shut-

what if I'm left inside these walls?

im scared,

im scared