Four walls painted the most artificial yellow I have ever seen surround me

I sit at a desk that has been written on by some poor soul who was tormented as I am being tormented now

I am told authority is beautiful
Fabricated moments of patriotism
Create an illusion of virtue
And in the same breath
I am declared a sinner
Unworthy of love from an entity of unconditional love
I know they are wrong
I know they are hateful
But sometimes , when I am left alone with my thoughts for too long
I believe them

How could I not? I sat at the desk for years being shouted at

This is the truth. There is no other way.

I think about the man who painted these horrible walls
What would he say if he were here?
Does it matter?
I will never know him now but somehow he had become a small part of my life , he has taken up a space in my brain no matter how seemingly unimportant  

These seem to be very trivial thoughts
And perhaps they are
Maybe I only think them to fill the time
To drown out the yelling

Either way I hope the man who painted these walls
Is better off than I