Sitting in a white room, with rotting white walls, molding white ceiling, and an unstable white floor- cold and hard like concrete.
Black filth stains every surface and crack with crackling static-shaking darkness.
There is a broken window to the right, and beyond the window is only solid gray.
But even that is uncertain.
Flickering shadows crawl about the corners of my eyes, but there is nothing here.
There is nothing here.
It is either freezing, or completely void of temperature,
But my brow breaks a single sweat drop
To sting my raw flesh with it's spiteful salt.
My eyes, unable to shut, are dry and tired, and
Faded to remains of ash or dust.
(My brain cage.)