The Boy Next Door
Spiralling down the darker corners of the mind
7am, crying, no wailing, like an injured animal,
The sound stops and starts like the humming of
the fridge, who comes to a stop with a great thudding,
trembling the walls - the walls, paper thin, seeping voices
flutter to my ears like a black and white TV left on
whilst the old man sleeps on the couch.
I take a bath, to relax, to unwind, and the voices
seep through, drowned out by Italian songs reverberating
against the tiles, but I pause it, pause and listen - the shameful
curiosity snapping awake, and there it comes, the wailing, and
shouts, and then the muffled crashing of a mind at war.
No prompt, just some thoughts that needed to come out, somehow.. I'm so behind.