She stares at the walls.
One is lilac,
Another is blue with birds.
The third and fourth
Are an entire cupboard and bookshelf
With chipped ends.
She looks up at the ceiling.
It's sky blue,
A colour chosen for a metaphor.
There's a fan hanging from it.
Sometimes,
She'd imagine herself hanging from that fan.
She sees her desk in front.
It's inside the bookshelf, actually,
Enclosed right at the centre.
There's a box of stapler pins,
Rows of dry glue sticks,
And a collection of figurines
Under which lie the blades
She uses on her wrists.
She paces in her room.
The white door
Holds onto the clothes and badminton racket hung behind.
The tiles are scattered with cracks
From when she fell with her chair.
The grey window sills
Cage the world outside.
Lying on the bed, she lets her room engulf her
Into a world she can let herself go.
YOU ARE READING
And the Petals Fall
Poetry❃ From one of the flowers in my infinite garden, I present to you a caricature of its petals. ❃
