Talking to you felt like talking to a wall.
I talk and talk and talk but I never get replies.
I decorate this wall, I praise this wall. But all of these efforts are unappreciated.
It's kinda sad that even though its like this. I still carried on doing it.
I look towards that love,
the cold stone wall you are,
You moan your replies
The past was a foolish representation of the present, of a fickle, idea driven impulse of the unknowing.
My heart has become numb from all the trying. It has become cold. Rock it has become.
And my sense dull, and my body turns rigid.
My eyes flicker, and my pupils dilute.
Strands of hair turns into wires,
and as if medusa induced , I have become a stone.
The once brownish eyes now black. The once flush red cheeks now gray.
Badly chiseled teeth are now stones.
The soul has left the body for the search of another one. A better one, a stronger one. One that is living.
Roaming about the planes of life.
I am now the wall you talk to
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