White

We sat in a room of white, of depressed paint, of peeled plaster. We sat in a room of white, waist deep in nostalgia and yellow bile. We sat in a room of white; the crimson possibility of death incarnadined on our sore wrists. We sat in a room of white, our regret heavy on our kneecaps. We sat in a room of white, red dripping from our tips onto a wooden floor.We sat in the room of white, my inadequacy and I, wading for answers at the ends of my opened river veins.

No Comments »

No comments yet.

Leave a comment