Surfacing.

If walls could talk,
I'd be this open book,
With no pages and scribbles,
I'd be this fire inside you,
That never starts, that never glows.
This person here that writes for you,
Between walls, I'm as empty as this ocean,
There's so much we never see,
All this colour, surfacing,
All of me.

If I could speak,
The words they'd understand,
Steady and smiling,
I'll spill all that is of me,
And blow it away,
If yesterday was broken,
Tomorrow is so far away,
Today I'm picking pieces,
Every word I could speak,
Has never been enough,
Everything that was in the past,
Has come today, shutting me down.
If I could speak,
I'd speak of everything,
But this walls that rip me apart,
Stay deep inside,
There'll be too much, you'll never see.