To be a compact entity is to never exist.
Never to touch the glistening baseboards,
Or the still wet to the touch walls,
Or even the cobwebs,
Not even the spiders need to know of your existence.
Tiny tin soul,
Tarnished with rust,
Sharpened by quickly thrown quarrels,
Why do you thump around so loud?
Your grotesque edges,
Burrowing into freshly covered plaster,
Creating crooked cracks along the rebuilt seams,
Splattering crimson upon the warm exterior.
Disfigured and ugly,
Disrupting the guise,
Shattering the shield that keeps those
From your monstrous interior.