Splintery

My body screams for peace

PEACE!

But 

wouldn't that be too easy?

That bed, 

it's not used for sleeping.

Sitting, sitting.

Thinking, thinking. 

Thoughts that make me 

queasy.

Sitting, sitting. 

Glancing outside 

every season or two, 

jealous of the weather.

It changes.

We all talk about

change

'cause it's what we think we want.

Doors.

That's what we really want.

They open and close

for better

for worse.

We may get lost

behind a busted, splintery door.

We find ourselves there, too.

But when will I find peace?