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.