Stains
I can’t live without my bad decisions,
big or small
these problems come crawling,
not to talk or stay a while,
but to slip inside the doors we left open
and tap at the sides of our minds,
when the blues start to mix with the light patterns
and the clock blinks 3:00 am.
when we can no longer hear the high pitched giggle
or taste the bitter tang of blackberries on our tongues,
when the soft blonde hairs are shut behind a door
and the crisp wind of mistakes
stain our teeth.
it is not our choice
what misshapes us
and leaves us itching.