Fly on the wall

 

If you were a fly on the

walls of my mind,

or a ghost in the corner

of the borders where fear resides,

what would you see inside?

A man-shaped being, or a scared little kid,

glancing up at the moon, chewing his lip,

clicking the pen lid, writing an ode

to a kiss he once knew

in a dream he once lived.

 

Would you even begin to see

the journey I've been on?

 

What thoughts would buzz

What words would shiver where

my spine once lived before fear

left me spineless, bent double.

Gripping my liver as I bled my pain

onto the ground.

 

Would you see the growing self-worth,

a slight glow to the soil,

a seedling piercing through the earth?

 

Would you think

why waste life on a dream?

Why pour yourself away

like those unseen tears

or the drink you once escaped into?

Why is he screaming

to be released from this cage?

When the door is prised wide open,

instead, he stays chained to the page,

speaking a name to the moon,

then swooning to sleep, wrapped

in fitful lullaby tunes?

 

Why doesn't he leave?

Why does he seem so ill at ease

seeing his skin as blemished,

when all I see is a man that could flourish?

He should be holding his frame tall

sharing his heart - I've heard it call.

 

And when he's not looking

I've read the words he scrawls,

and the message is beautiful.

 

Just go out, be you,

be beautiful and true.

You have the world to explore.

So, for God's sake,

go out of the door.

I have some haunting to do,

and my friend here would

like to buzz off.