VIII

There's no question mark, in the reproachful beating of the clock.
Punctually registrating the time I've clearly wasted.

Eyes reveal an eggshell with with a concrete look.
Fragile like Chinese porcelain, still my mand can't break it.

I tried the fists, the pride, the tears, denial.
But all I needed was a simple smile.

The thing I love is what I fear.
Afraid I'd hold, I'd strangle.

The painting merely illustrates the one that broke the wall.

Is no one else but you.