After all those years trapped in that room, The shade of the walls made me sick to my stomach.
Until I snapped.
And with shaking hands,
And bile breath,
Stripped the walls bare.
I spent hours, days,
Picking and peeling at paint.
Trying to undo the years the pigment had settled.
With every desperate claw,
Chips catching under my fingernails,
Maybe more a part of me now
Than it ever was.
YOU ARE READING
starlit whispers
Non-Fictionpoetic entries from the diary of a pansexual, pangender, and often panicked individual. Most of them are unfinished half baked ideas because I am a mess of a person.
