Chained To Your Shame Poem by James McLain

And there you all hang,
loving all of your misery, hurt and crying.
Nailed to your bed
and when comfort is two rocks,
bearer of all that is you bash against.
Chained to in all your shame.
Eyes dripping blood
it's as real as evil laughter,
sleeping on the bed
with your own rail road spike it has gripped you.
Bruised, torn, and brown moss dripps, off into.
The strile linoleum
and all whom have come before waxed floor.
Hanging on to this wall of your shame
raining drops of small years you left.
Old brass keys shake and rattle,
the doors left open ajar,
over and over we have seen and read.
As you drip,
as he trips over you seeing his
breathtaking sight of you his.
And you are bereft all feeling left hanging,
only now do you stop.
Stop the young lilies and roses frow watching.