Sepia seeping in
and thinking
I don’t want to go
back to begin again
to go against the grain again
or to feel that crushing pain again
so
I paint the walls in red
the ceiling cyan blue
the doors, I leave as they are,
ajar,

the colours might do the trick
and stop me
from picking at scabs.

Only the windows still rattle
which has nothing to do with
drugs.