A window.
A closed, locked window,
The room behind it
is exploding.
Love is filling all the corners,
hiding.
Thoughts are curled into balls
jumping around.
Passion is climbing all over the walls
like a spider's web,
fighting the scissors of morals, rules and shame
who are trying to stop it .
Honest happiness is running on the ceiling,
Darts of pain are flying from side to side.
Care is trying to cover the corners,
to defend the innocent love from the others.
Lastly, attraction is lying on the floor,
Hands on head, like in a war.
And that window,
It is cracking under the pressure,
It wants to open up,
But the key to its lock,
Even though already inside and ready to spin,
Will always be strong enough to stay still
and not make a move.
Because as the wind from outside can refresh the room,
so it might blow all that's in it ,
and leave nothing but dust
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