some colour
to violate these sickly surfaces
walls that sound like Sundays
and taste of crooked teeth.
walls that narrate cold cups of tea,
sipping at warmth's blasphemy
Walls that remind me of death
and the lives of old people
with cats
and tired, pink lamps
walls of clinics
and crusty country houses
of brittle smoker's nails
and dirty running taps.
Bored and yellow
I feel unraveled
wishing these walls were emerald green
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