sky souring to grey
and I'd hide away
unsure where to go
stuck in my head
whirring, reeling,
uncomfortable realisations.
where did I go?
Clarity in words
never formed straight lines,
coherent sentences,
or sense.
They stayed ravelled,
confused, convoluted
like past arguments
on rape and sex
and on what makes them
assault or pleasure.
What we hide from
stays hidden under
duvets and stained covers
like the buried dead
still writhing in graves
but where do you run
when all you're left
is yourself and a closet
with a lock at the door
and a darkened room
to ponder and repeat
the mistakes in your mind?
Open
to misinterpretation
it all falls
never-into place
and they lie like
fragmented pieces
in the closet with
you
on a dark rainy day.
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