Speaking Truths

Candles lit in another room down some corridor waiting
The dim light spills out the shadowy hallway.

Walls covered with dark sketches, your favourite.
A bowl of over ripened fruit on the dusty grand piano
Fills the room with a sickly lukewarm stench.
The curtains drawn, my eyes become distracted.

Trees are narrowing as the wind presses against their bodies
The sounds I know seem black and attractive, I’m sure.
Your voice intrudes and I’m back in the room
Your eyes catch mine and the world escapes us once again.

Need to change the fruit bowl.

Yes… too typical? Though the person in this poem is sharing the company with one they think is typical, almost pathetic and so i thought it suited,though i don’t like this poem any way, its just one of those things i wrote with not much thought. :stuck_out_tongue:

I like it. First two lines and last two lines are its weakness.