I wonder what my ceiling would say if she could talk?
She’s see so much of me,
So much of my intimacies,
Between myself, and those I let crawl into the sheets she gazed on.
The moments that made me wonder,
The sleepless nights she let me stare at her,
Unnerving and solemn.
Lines I created and burned,
Ones no one dared to cross,
Ones the wrong people burned through,
And the she saw the ruins it left me in.
What would she say to me, if she could,
Would she hug me,
Soothe me and wipe the tears as they fell?
Or would she shake her head and chastise me,
Mock me for allowing these things to happen without her guidance,
Or would she remain silent.
Letting me talk and scream and cry,
And simply be the pillar I know her as.
What would she say?
The ceiling I stare up at every night,
And tell me most intimate secrets to.
What would you say?