I often sit on my soft, white carpet
Staring

At the blank wall in front of me.

It is blank, but that wall is not empty -

Full of my secrets and smothered by my cries,
It knows me better than I know myself.



At night I lie in my nice, warm bed

Staring

At the blank ceiling above me

Its white paint is darkened – 

The switch flipped to off means it’s time

For my disguise to turn off as well.



In the morning when I wake, I find myself

Staring 

At the blank walls of my room.
The walls are simply walls –
Unchangeable,
impenetrable and menacing.

I think they closed in a little overnight.