By Samantha Brodsky
These walls are thick with lies.
Plaster and paint peels at where the ceiling’s corners kiss
the edges of these bold walls
that think they can hold together
think they can withstand and stand tall
as we sit on these sorry sheets that scream
with secrets we both know exist but do not
dare speak of.
“You’re forever mine,” you say,
but if this were true,
forever wouldn’t have this impending expiration
date and we wouldn’t have gone rotten.
I try pretending we have only just ripened,
our love plump with promise.
But we ended before we even started,
never even left the shore to explore our lives together
because you sailed away without me to expand your horizons
and left me waiting among the salty foam of your waves.
As we wrap ourselves in each other’s arms
like envelope folds
we both pretend the prickly goose bumps that line
our skin like dormant freckles are not derived from fear.
We stare at these walls waiting for them to fall,
waiting for the truth to hit us when all the lies fenced out flood in.
We wait until one of us decides the air up here
where we stand tall in our pride
is too thin.
You’re too proud to be the first to leave
so I’ll start my descent off this dying mountain
because somewhere out there
there are thicker walls.