The floor of my mind is the hue of dead coral.
As is the ceiling, the walls, and the bed.
There's not a splash of red.
There is a rattling like a broken water heater,
But I can't get out of the room.
I bet I could fix it if I just had some blue.
There is no art here, not even a stain.
There's no direction and there is no pain.
If I had yellow i could paint one side,
And show the difference between deep and wide.
If someone else was here then I wouldn't know it.
If they were behind me, there are no mirrors to show it.
Encapsulated in this chalky tomb,
Blank equals certain in this maddening room.
Empty is safety. Expression is doom.
I feel so useless in this boring white room.