Pink Room

My world is in fluorescence;

Cold, artificial, and hospital-esque.

I search for meaning within the confines

Of a four-by-three; decorate the walls

With paint, and grime, and upholstery.

I find mirrors hidden by hairline cracks,

Reflecting worms falling down, down

Down the wooden slab onto the sienna floor,

Dripping with acrylic and broken glass.

In the shelves of books,

You'd find all the dreams I've dreamed

And those that have died;

The words that shaped me,

The advices I've stripped and scrapped.

For what is the meaning of the meaning of the meaning --

Of the days that swing like pendulums, back and forth,

And forth and back?

The maggots that fell before laid eggs

That will dive into my bed again.

The floor will fill with more drops of paint,

Until all there is is wet.