Sunday ?pm
I lived
In a charismatic green painting
Until it was stolen for firewood
Then,
I slept
Now ruined by nightmares
I thought
In a world of birch and oak
But trees, like thought, wither and die.
Now,
I exist here
In a grey monochromatic world where
Nothing changes except my face.
I sit
In a white and yellow room
Where bare walls long to be clad.
Still
I read
In a wooden chair by the window
Sunlight staining my pages.
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Email: happy_melon_@hotmail.com
