It's white and cold...
I listen to the cars drive by; I can't sleep. I stare at the blank walls as they point and laugh, mocking me. The ebb and flow of my fan has lost its wonder. These walls yearn for color, pictures; anything to drown out the dull roar of what is bland. They beg to be personalized, personified, to have love hung from them; I choose not to. It's only temporary. I live in house that is not a home. These four walls defined by what is foreign. And as I close my eyes I repeat to myself it is only temporary...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
I forget how good you can be. I've been waiting for you to remind us. Keep em comingg.
ReplyDelete