hole.

There's a hole in the wall

where i want to poke a stick inside.

Watching the drywall crumble like thoughts mistaken, to the floor

discarded and a mess

lost through the efforts you make to clean.

Washed away, down the drain

like the life you thought

you were making, instead other

avenues arise, full of more holes to fill

with sticks, with teeth

gray noises humming

the sound of worry

the holes buzzing.

Nothing you do stops it

infact, efforts make more holes, more noises

and you finally give in.

The holes don't fill in.

They aren't meant to go away.

you might

cover them a little, give them

a new sound for a while

but they'll always be there.

All you can do

is flash your teeth

gape your jaws

continue forward, leaving some holes

beHIND-

as you press on.

tap tap tapping, listening

the jaws waves

through the gray noises

searching for the lost colour

finding dulled, washed out remains

the holes all over

unwanted spots in a hide.

Eventually, you give

in.

Eventually.