4 blue walls
these blue walls that stand like pillars,
holding my broken, bleeding skin together.
from corner to corner,
they capture the screams and cries for mercy—
a breath of peace to wash over my mind.
but i am met with a whirlpool in my head,
drowning out my voice,
so it never makes it past a whisper in the pillow.
these walls are damp from a river
that flows from my bleeding heart.
it bleeds and bleeds—
and needs it to stop.
so i flow a river of red and pain
to make the voices quiet.
these walls are a prison that squeeze me tightly—
It feels like home.
it knows no boundaries.
these blue walls are so perfect—
not a speck of paint out of order.
it breathes oxygen so clean,
it poisons my lungs.
these perfect blue walls have seen
how every nick, burn, and cut
has been engraved on my body.
they carry my secrets—
secrets that never escape past my white door.
these blue, empty walls.
so much room for color,
for life.
and I am numb.
and dying.
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Author:
Leah Bess (
Offline) - Published: June 21st, 2025 23:37
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
Offline)
Comments3
Welcome to MPS 🕊️🙏🏻
A poem of strong feeling. The question unanswered and open to interpretation is this room self painted or was someone else employed to do the work? Nicely penned it is raw and calls out for help. Very nicely done. Welcome to MPS
A heartfelt write of a calling out for help, imprisoned by the eternal pain trying to find a way to break free, nicely expressed and written
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