The white faces with a nose of slope
where sight slides
right down, landing right
at my center with the light
hearted fun of candy corn
that bites like licorice.
An extra layer of mountainous flesh
hides this hearts' beat;
so it might continue despite
the tragedy of broken bones
and words funneled through cones
of melted bits I scream
into dark rooms that echos it back;
where the he's and she's care less
about the buckets of thoughts
stacked side by side
inside the halls of this soul,
the only visitors to grace
its presence. If only they'd unpack,
hanging a picture or two, I know
the echos would surely cease?
