KitaWarheit
Delicate Yet Exotic
Hiya! I feel like posting stuff cuz tbh I just want nice compliments right now for my mood;;;;; but anyways! I wrote a poem a bit ago to kinda "vent" about my tinnitus or whatever it would be called... But I decided to make it a little
spooky
just cuz x3 (also, a friend helped explain what I experience, the tinnitus, and it's made me feel less insane lol)
Here it is:
I think there are memories in my walls
No, not on my walls; no framed photos
That tell only the stories of the good days
The days we want to see to forget the bad
No, what I'm talking about is in my walls
Ghosts of the past that linger around
Something you can hear if you press your ear
Close enough against the wall and wait
Or even in the dead quiet of night sometimes
When I'm all alone with just myself
And that train running through my head
I hear the walls speak then...
It's funny that they only seem to whisper
When I'm the only one in the house
Or maybe it's when others are around
They're listening for new memories to keep
I hear footsteps
I hear doors close
I hear my name called
I hear conversations that I can't quite make out
But when I get up to look around,
No one is home at all and the house is quiet
I look around and start to wonder that
Maybe I'm just going crazy; hallucinating
Days change over time; for better or for worse
But I can't help but wonder to myself
If the photos on the wall are the good memories
Then are the walls holding on to the bad memories?


Here it is:
I think there are memories in my walls
No, not on my walls; no framed photos
That tell only the stories of the good days
The days we want to see to forget the bad
No, what I'm talking about is in my walls
Ghosts of the past that linger around
Something you can hear if you press your ear
Close enough against the wall and wait
Or even in the dead quiet of night sometimes
When I'm all alone with just myself
And that train running through my head
I hear the walls speak then...
It's funny that they only seem to whisper
When I'm the only one in the house
Or maybe it's when others are around
They're listening for new memories to keep
I hear footsteps
I hear doors close
I hear my name called
I hear conversations that I can't quite make out
But when I get up to look around,
No one is home at all and the house is quiet
I look around and start to wonder that
Maybe I'm just going crazy; hallucinating
Days change over time; for better or for worse
But I can't help but wonder to myself
If the photos on the wall are the good memories
Then are the walls holding on to the bad memories?