the fifth.

fall in through the ceiling

search the rooms for meaning

when the rain has made no sound

upon the walls

the pulses pound

and common decency has died

the funeral march has long since gone

and i don't feel the urge to cry

nor can i seem to shuffle on

all of these feelings bleed

the knife has twisted

i'm the fool

trying to keep my hopeful heart

within a world where minds are cruel

ungrateful hands just steal and beg

manipulate the veins for more

and taking love in vain

and we're just left here on the floor

crumpled up like dirty clothes

when we know we're worth far more

than the sound of brokenness

and the crash of slamming doors

and the hoard of snide remarks

and remorse only if caught

conclusions jumped to in my brain

wisdom waxes and it wanes

play the scripts over again

try to find myself to blame

and hyper-ventilate to sleep

from the nightmare wake to weep

remind myself, as i'm bled white

in all the small things, to delight

lord, i'm weary of the fight

turn these violent wrongs to rights

i'll write it down and read it back

let it sink into the cracks

calm me down, don't let me fall

sliding slow down the painted wall

calm me down, mend this heart

reconstruct what's come apart