Monochrome,
a place un-roamed.
A sleeping human, in a chair
the middle of the room, where everything is bare.
Awake, they find, the dull appearance,
and almost cry out, but find interference.
Numb. Dull and flat. A heavy placemat.
The gray of the monochrome shines in the window light.
The person tries, to get out of their chair
but finds themselves stuck in thick air.
They sit, and stare at the wall for hours.
The silence eating at their mind
before they notice the flowers.
The bright flowers, in the corner of the room.
They sit in color, a strange forgiven sight.
Red, blue, yellow, alike.
And greens and oranges, and purples too.
Pinks and blacks, and whites a few.
A beautiful bouquet, that held the world.
The silky pedals, starting to unfurl.
They stared, at the flowers for a while,
before snapping out of their trance,
and trying to prove worthwhile.
They try desperately, to stand once again.
But find themselves, unable to use their hands.
They can't move, not barely an inch.
A lack of emotions, brings a shaking twitch.
Stuck to the seat,
with aching feet,
they long for the flowers in the corner of the room.
The ones that continued to stay fresh and anew.
A puff of clean air,
in this numb and dusty monochrome.
An empty place, still un-roamed.
If only they could get up,
and use the flowers to explore.
YOU ARE READING
Nobody Was Meant to See
Poetry[Trigger Warning, please be safe when reading] They aren't supposed to know. They aren't meant to read these poems that I'm writing. I've concealed them for a reason. -Shitty poems about how I feel-
