CRUMBLING CEILINGS

[mxmories]

 

Houses fall, roofs tumble into the dust.

A pile of shrapnel and glass from a broken home stand at attention.
My mind is a musty pile of old drywall,

building material that no one ever really cared about anyways,

so who cares if I fall? I don’t mind;

no one ever really cared about this anyways.

Whoever really cared about this, anyways?
My mother gave up the house today;

my father signed the divorce papers today;

we all moved out today;

my old life was crushed today.

Today, it was demolition day;

today, a wrecking ball went into my house;

today, we filled our empty hearts back up with cement in hopes that no one would notice (1 part water to 1 part aggregate to 1 part cement mix to 1 part truth to 99 parts lie ((It’s a lie, it’s all been a lie, from the birthday parties to family picnics; I don’t care))).

What’s a little white lie, anyways?

Whoever really cared about this, anyways?
(Not me, oh no, no, surely not me; you must be mistaken.)

I’m crumbling into smaller and smaller pieces,

I’m blowing away with the wind,

but…

no one ever really cared about this anyways.