"Sheet Rock"

"Sheet Rock" 

Definitive deconstruction.
Roundabout collision.
My position as confusing
as the religion of the suicidal.
Pressure tidal
so I hold tight and fast
to that which might last
only as long as this reflection.
Detection of inflection.
Per notice of my motives,
I may need protection.
I hear them speak
but do they ever listen?
When I shine and glisten,
do I seem dull?
When I withhold a little,
can they peer into my skull
and see what I would like to say?
I try to hide away.
Cover it all
but familiarity has stained these walls
and the sponge is dingy. 

Floor beneath my feet flimsy.
Ceiling less appealing
revealing the opportunity to fail.
Small cracks and it is frail.
The only enduring constant in this hour
are visible reminders of just how much power
I never really had. 

At one point, I was glad. 

I smiled to cope
in hope of turning the page.
I tied the ropes
in knots that resembled the rage
that I kept far from my disposition.
My position still undecided.
Love unrequited
I've offered to the furnace.
Favor so well furnished
that time would have it burn slow
just to make sure that I know
that some things are worth salvaging. 

Life lines these inner cavities.
Cavalry of ghosts
that used to kick down doors.
Evidence of thoughts
that intermingled with the floor.
Dust trapped feelings
that lay strong against the ceiling
and four listless sides
that will impart no healing. 

Head in the corner.
Shoulders between ridges.
Eyes on the former
link between bridges.
Bridges in turn
I have burned in elation.
Now their remnants
and this room have relation. 

Freely the paint chips
that rubs against my neck.
It takes me on trips
and keeps me looking back.
Chips become chunks.
Dirty smudges on my knuckles.
No semblance of support
for when my knees would buckle. 

Chuckles seep through the cracks...

I ask "What's Funny?!"
but they just run from me.
No retort.
Never talking back.
Perceived that tales of frustration
would illicit conversation.
Instead,
every breach fills me with consternation. 

Creaks in the crevices.
Air between toes
but no sunlight in areas
where darkness won't disclose
all that erodes eventually.
Contingency the blades
that have yet to come down.
I have drowned in anticipation.
Fixation upon fixtures
that try to uphold the integrity
of a place lacking so much more. 

Each break like open pores
and tears offer no sufficient moisture. 

Fortress of forfeiture no more fortified
than the eyes that have kept it somewhat together.
Well wishes in the form of fairer weather.
A norm this place knew rarely.
The blades spin on an angle.
They dance.
They flail.
They dangle.
Glowing angels that come to haunt me.
They taunt me with the truth.
Around my neck the noose
that three of four expected.
Each of the four neglected
to reach out with my back facing them.
I can only trace them as high
as the cries they have collected.
Unprotected by foundation
or the cover that hovers,
I,
the lover of the last
will claim refuge in the crash
and the rubble.
Called me humble.
Called me meek.
Four in silence finally speak
when no one else is around
to observe where voices leak.
No more favor I should seek.
No one else will hear the sounds
when from years above the ground
all that surrounds starts falling down.
After a boom louder than gavels,
over time the voices travel
from foundation to the mantle. 

My position beneath the gravel. 

When they talk,
it all unravels...... 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz 

Inspired By: "These Walls" by Kendrick Lamar