Your eyes open slowly and your blurry vision begins to fade. You look around and the room is white. Hanging over you is a canopy collecting every butterfly you've ever experienced. You step from underneath it and your feet touch the floor covered in satin. You begin slipping just as your control once began to slip through your own fingers. You feel for the wall for support only to find your hand stained blue and cold.
The room was flooded with blue. You walk towards the cd player, and push play like you have a thousand times before. The cd plays the sounds of the ocean, the splashing against the rocks reminded you of a love that always came back for more. You were calm and every ounce of you called out for the warmth of the sun and the taste of the salt on his lip.
His kisses grew far more passionate than you ever intended and the vines leading down euphoric paths became green and quickly the room fades a deep emerald. The leaves began to change and your vines snapped much sooner than you ever planned for.
Sun poured into the light and reflected on every mirror you so impatiently refused to stare into. The room was yellow. You were alone with mirrors and a puzzle. The puzzle represented every piece of him that you never understood and your frustration pushed through your mind like crepuscular rays in a cloud. You heard yellow meant happy, but it only reminded you of a cowardice and an irritation that could cut holes in granite rock.
You look down towards your chest slowly rising and falling only to find the floor is orange, the walls are orange, every table and chair is orange. You walk over and sit in the corner, in the chair, seeming to be nailed to the floor and suddenly you remember every regret hammered into your head with no intention of release, just like the chair.
Power, lust and *******. You were covered in his scent and the marks on your skin were as red as the walls. The ruby matched your hatred, but it represented the passion that once coursed through your veins and raced with the beating of your heart that sounded far too much like the clock that was ticking out of time. It was red and it was quiet, but your intensity diminished as the luxury of purple took its course and had its way with the walls.
The hands on the clock were amethyst along with every shelf end and every book within it. You reach past the cobwebs to reveal a book of your life. The pages are stained with deep purple smudges similar to your arms and knees after your demons have beaten you down. You begin to read the words on every page covered in black ink.
You realize now the colors are painted along the wall of your mind. It is as dark inside your mind and you feel submerged in a water deeper than the well your family had once thrived from. But the well of hope has run dry and you desperately search for the water that once kept you all afloat. The only noises you hear are every regret that ever snuck its way into the crevices of every memory. You pray for white, yellow, red, anything but black. But you are alone with the demons and you are alone in the walls of your head.