Proverbs 17:1

The walls bleed in this house of strife

The roof sages and weeps

They try to medicate my misery

The feast they give me fills the stomach

But the hearts left empty


Wallpaper to the wound

Try to hide it away

You can’t pretend peace

Thin disguises are easily seen through

My paper mask is melted by my tears

Don’t tell me wealth is happiness.

©Arwen LeQuieu

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