Picking up the Pieces

Picking Up the Pieces

I cleaned up the mess…
Again…
This one being bloodier
Than the last…
I’m growing weary of
Picking up the pieces
From all the lives you’ve shattered,
With what is seemingly
No conscience whatsoever…
I’ve asked you for nothing…
And that is exactly what I have
Received from you…
Not even a mere thank you
Or a kind word,
As if all that I have done for you
Has been expected of me…

You act as if it is my fault that
I am unable to clean out your closet…
The one where you keep all the bones…
Your skeletons are beginning to talk…
They’re telling epic stories of your
Misinterpretations of reality…
Even these darkened and stained walls
Are echoing the screams…
Yet you continue to leave your
Severed bodies scattered
In every room of which you wander…