http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fm4Tr9Sy6pk*
My ceiling's painted in a off-white, it holds a multitude of dreams, from the night, before i sewed them into my seams. It captured them and absorbed them into the million grains of whites, each grain containing my dreams from the last two years and 3 nights. It hold the weight of the couple from above and their arguments and their make-up ***, and break-up love. It holds my worries and becomes my sky, inside my head there is no limit, but to this ceiling, it watches me cry. It holds my dreams. It bears my sin, there is tissues and love letters left in the bin. It bears the curse from the cigarettes i smoke, and watches when i get slammed and i am broke. Leaves me alone, reeling. My spinning world, my off-white ceiling.
I stretch my legs out in this bed, where the duvet colour is a past memory of faded red. This bed, oh it holds many woes, many girls, i have watched come, and literally go. I have cried a million sea of tears into this colour of red, in this ship, i call my bed. It holds my life, as my body lies when it cannot arise, and i cannot begin to see the world i have begun to despise. I have lost myself in this faded sheet, i have lost my mind, i have lost my marbles and my feet. I trapped myself on many a dark night, I have held a torch under these covers to bring me light; when i played hide and seek, and i ran from nightmares of that boy, in my sleep. It holds my come, my smoke, my legs, and my colour of red. My duvet covers, my bandaged head
I drift off.....
I cannot bang my head no longer against the back wall, because i no longer hear you hear my call. It's painted in a lilac colour, that wasn't my choice, and even in this simple matter, i feel like i've lost my choked voice. Here is my ship, there is my sky, it creaks as we tip toe and when they leave it bends with a sigh. The floor is in intrepid water, cracked ice, a danger zone, sirens and mermaids and whiskey, in a world i call my own. Here in this room i have toasted many a lover, taken one too many under this cover; i have held one of many in my arms, i have used my false wit, i have used my faceless charms; i used my smile, i used my eyes, i used the hint of something that they would later despise. Then i would watch them come, i would lie under, next, to, beside, on top of, them, and tell them their day is done.
There is a white blind that covers my window, its covered by curtains of black; how ridiculously symbolic is that? The very thing that lets in light, pushes it out when it comes to night. And every pair of footsteps to come through that door, well, they walk on broken footprints from someone before. The dust lies no differently beneath my bed, though I would never know, if they had never said. This ceiling sees my each and every move, it sees my tongue and fingers secretly find and explore every groove. And i am an explorer of lands unknown, there is no compass to where i go, myself and me, on our own. We sit here and watch as they sleep after we've drunk tea, and we draw out new maps to places we can't see. My lonesome room and lustless me.
This wonder of my eyes, a slight tinge of blue sin, leaves me to draw out the poison i have kept within. A filing cabinet of scars and pain, subconsciously picked out from the bin inside my brain; they play out to a roomless crowd, where i call out, cry out, shout out, way too loud. And when the poison is brought forth, and my lover has come, i know my job is over, my job is done. And as it retreats and my heart drown in circles around my soul, this is not me presented lying here, for i am living breathless, w-reckless ghoul. Girl or not, or who i am, this is not me, this is not who i a-m. I am not what i present, i am not what you see, i am not your one nor your ******* cup of tea. I am not what you touch, taste or feel, nothing of this, my lovely little ******, is real. My ceiling, my wall, this is my crowd, this is my secret place, this is me, in this red sheeted, white covered, black lit space.