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Various shades of pinks and crèmes covered the walls. That is the obvious part. What most don’t see are the hints of navy, the dark greys that cower away in the nooks and crannies of the room. They aren’t expected to see these. No one is made aware of the darker corners. If they were interested they would look. The floors creak and cry as the feet carelessly wander across them, but they aren’t heard. Who needs to listen. Fingers casually tear at the wallpaper, not realizing that it’s more fragile than it appears. The room doesn’t deserve respect. The various decorations add to the feeling, the feeling of strength. Hammers delight in marking up the presumably steel walls, believing that they can take it. If anyone bothered to check they would realize that the paper-thin walls are quickly withering away, but would they mind? There are now holes in the wall, but that’s not stopping anyone. The room is always occupied. Never any peace and quiet. Never quiet enough. The voices get louder. The square footage grows smaller. Some are kicked out. Tinier, louder ones come in. The room is slowly repaired each time, only to crumble again. Parts are lost in the process. Possibly important ones, but no one takes notice. They could care less. The colors fade and those who once appreciated the rosy tones make the decision to leave, only to be replaced by admirers of the new blacks and the whites that now devour the space. As the walls fall down, only to be brought up again, the point in it all is questioned. Why not just let them fall? She may have made the room, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to destroy it.

I awoke in an incomplete layer of white. Toes twitched and the mind wandered far. Far away from as much as it was able to leave. Metal device makes bothersome noise. Leave me alone. Specific scent engulfs the second pillow, as it will for many days to come. Images of those expressions create strange feelings that eat away at what little still exists. Go away. Arm slowly raises to reveal an array of pretty little indents, nail marks. Probably shouldn’t think those are pretty. Fuck. The images return. Nails dig deeper. There it is. That dangling cigarette. The curve of that stupid smirk. Jolt backward. Day-old tea spills on freshly washed sheets. Reach for that paper. That overpriced pen. Everything’s overpriced these days. Straight lines. Jittery lines. They fill the page. They are taking up too much space. How dare they. How selfish. Cracked lips reveal new bites. Fresh blood emerges. Wiped away by wrinkled hands. Bruises would be better. Sheet moves to reveal pale bare skin. Joints crack. Fingers greet the notches in spine. Hey, they’re gone. Smile tried it’s hardest. It couldn’t. The humming continues. Resentful teeth grind together. Soft yet hard. Repeat. Serious movement proves to be difficult. Mouth yearns for that flavor. Legs refuse. Mind is overwhelmed. There it is again. That strange grin. Meaning does not deserve the explanation. That would only cause further discomfort. Stop trying to be here. Here is not an option. Only there. Stay there. There is no point. There never is. Only temporary happiness. Soon to be gone. Like them. They left. Stop leaving. They refuse. Stir up my mind. Teach me something worth learning. They say solitude is bliss. All I’ve learned is that there is no cure for tired eyes.