An Author's Trashbin

22

Painted glass pours rainbow lights into my room.

Spilling onto my floor.

Cascading down my beige walls.

Splashing up onto my ceiling.

I pull my legs in,

Gripping my ankles to make myself small.

I hide my face behind the hills of my bent knees, shielding my eyes.

Don't touch me.

The colors aren't real.

They're a visage,

Meant to lure me in.

I will not become a fool.

I will not give in to temptation.

The colors aren't real.

They're poison.

Poison for the eyes,

The heart,

The soul.

The colors aren't real.

Do.
Not.
Become.
A.
Fool.