If walls could speak

If these walls could speak,
What would they say?
Would they breathe kind words?
Or would they taunt me everyday?

What would they see? i wonder,
Desperation? Agony? Fear?
Or the lonely mistress of pain,
Shedding yet another tear?

Would they speak of hidden blood stains?
Covered by that rug of midnight blue,
Or gossip about where the hidden razor was,
Behind the flowers where the Amaranth plant grew.

Would they whisper of the girl,
That locked herself in her room?
That kept breaking things and clawing stuff,
Till everything was in pieces, even the broom.

Would they say she was mad?
Insanity at its worse?
Or take pity on a tortured mind,
And speak of ways to end her curse?

Would they be angered by her deeds?
They themselves covered in her blood,
Will they ever mention the tale of the girl?
Of she who died and the fallen flower bud.