House of Clay by Karla Botha

Depression is repression,

You make me open up my doors,

A beautiful conflict presides inside,

A whirlwind that’s now yours.

So sorry to say,

Contradicting issues mucks up my mind,

Anger blinded crusade,

For innocence, I’ll never find.

Don’t let me fall,

Into me,

Don’t let me fail,

My own damned legacy.

A demon keeps glancing through the cracks,

My soul exposed to the other side,

A freak-train went through town,

You figured you’d catch a ride.

Search inside the dust window bay,

And look upon what you will find,

Draw the curtain crooked boy,

Step inside an artist’s mind.

© Karla Botha

Excerpt form the book “I Have A Name”

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