Lonely Colours

My back is on the wall, that white and not so cold wall. I look outside; the cars lights are getting through the night darkness.

In front of me is that white colour again.

I hear the silence, I hear the sounds inside it. I’m touching the seconds, I’m feeling the minutes; my funny clock is ticking ; sometimes is noisy; sometimes it reminds me life keeps going; it gives me the fact that I’m still a weird person in here.

To the right hand side there’s that blue colour covering the window; a dark view taking me away a natural one.

I’m not sleepy, neither awake. My annoyed mind doesn’t want me to rest. The ticking seconds are looking at me, those noisy minutes want to steal my pencil and this blue colour next to me wants the ink of my words.

To the left hand side, one more time, is that white colour.

Now it’s cold; it’s late. Is it time for missing? I prefer trying to not forget; I prefer to start something new, something away from my memories, creating new ones, and then, leaving that memories behind again.

Now, I look up to the ceiling. There is! The white again; there’s also a yellow one; that shinny colour which is letting me writing; that awful colour which reminds me is time to sleep.

I’m sit, my feet feels the brown and frozen floor; my green pillow is calling me, is yelling at me, but now I feel awake.
I look down to my hands; the right one has the pencil, the left one has a knife. My wrists are naked, also my neck; maybe the red one will join to this lonely colour dance.