sandpaper walls
sandpaper floors
have gotten soft as i walk upon them
as the surfaces lose their bite
that held my skin captive

i bled all over this room
there, when i first entered
there, when i cried myself to sleep
and the rigid movement teared through me
i've dulled the very thing that etched my soul
with heartbreak, then defeat
though a defeated a soul is not quite much
so i think i'm beat

the tang of blood
hanging in the still air
doesn't phase me anymore
like an ugly tree stump
becomes nothing more than a minor ugliness

once, a distant friend knocked on my door
my door, only because i am alone
but i guess it's not so sandpapery on the other side
he came in and told me
somehow i wasn't so bad
or not as bad as the hostile room in which i resided

maybe i'm not so bad
but bleeding and bloodless at the same time
heavy and empty
i'm not left with so much to give

so i suppose
blood and industrial red of sandpaper
don't insight the most truthful image
there is nothing passionate
or even alive within me anymore
imagine a dulled red
that of a dead flower no one bothered to touch