Negative Reaction To A Postive Thing Poem by Ray Mesa

A ript telephone book dangling from a pay phone
Your number underlined and is carved into the glass
And in these moments, as I am walking home
I see the things I know I can't grasp
I see all these things through my the holes in my mask

The dusty liner around your photograph
hanging above my door
It's become my mask
My reward, The only thing I adore

And as rain falls, staining my windows with tears
I rock back and fourth in the hall, All around me! , taunting! , Are my fears
In this night, I know better to close my eyes
Just like I should of known better to believe your lies

A motionless shadow is ahead
a lit candle is near my head
Thunder strikes far away
A place I rather be
Shakeing tree branches and ringing telephones
Is the beat to my death march
In the present, We see what kills and roams
It's what dwells in our own hearts