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A pink room that feels like an ocean

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wales
67
last monthSteemit3 min read

There’s a lot of beauty around just on the tip of my tongue...I thought I was begging but I must have been complaining, so I got what I got but I’m still hungry. Isn’t there anything I can do to escape? The prison cell has become claustrophobic, and I’m down to one thought an hour. More coffee in this tantalising dungeon dropping broken lines of stray thought into cold rusty poems like some big bird flying across the moon.

IMG_3491 (6).jpg

A pink room that feels like an ocean

How much loneliness can I take?
Rough paper and an electric cricket chirping to fade away and
I hear a yes somewhere.
The night goes to tomorrow’s dawn
And I am in it and I am spinning and this is all I can say.
Rise; and I did, maybe on the edge, and
Shrinking slowly out of sight.
I’m not having a party I’m just breaking time over the page.
Something burns on the carpet
Smoke dreams to the sky
Open up another why and then let it all fall.
As it all falls around me my feet walk
On the green carpet and the light over-head burns bright
Bright to my eyes, stark, a stark light bulb burning over-head.
So, I’ve got to here with these pink walls full of holes
And lines full of shadows.
It’s not easy this night to pass through
To go through feeling the time away so heavy with my body lead
And mind full of sand staring wide at the shadows that are mine.
But I am bored with all this
It’s progressing further than I can travel
So I should make this an ending right here sinking by degrees
Into the heat of this night.
This house is dark without enough lighting.
Some of the rooms have electric light
But mostly it is candles that flicker in the hallways
Casting shadows. She’s smoking a cigarette
Sitting cross-legged on the floor
Lost in her favourite adventure
And I see her there as I go to walk through my open door.
She doesn’t look up
I go back in my room but leave the door open.
She was drinking tea and there were two cups set out on a tray.
A date then.
The towel on the radiator is full of patterns, lines, curves, colours
And I can’t walk for all is spinning curves and a girl’s face
The face of all women.
This is not the end; it is only a lonely pink room that feels like an ocean
Must I suffer this loneliness on the hill of my dreams?
My dream is such then, this space filled as the night is turned
As I look out into the hall I hear a giggle
And glimpse bare thigh, ankles
Feet, wearing sandals
As she dashes past the open doorway.

Image is mine

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