My hands pressed against them, trying to push away the sadness, the loneliness, trying to push away the mass of nothingness that was slowly inching towards me.
My feet shuffled, they were itchy, felt like I should just take a knife and cut away those little piles of potatoes.
My room was full. My room was empty. My room was lonely, it was cold and shivering and moving all around, awake and asleep, dazed and amazed, in a fit of fury and passion, eager to find ways to break apart my jigsaw heart even more.
"Little one", it whispered, and I saw so many colours, as if it wanted to make my day a bit happier. There was blue, I think, and red and green and yellow and white - and they flashed up, flashed up, lit up my world, my eyes, penetrated deep into my soul and left children of emptiness in there.
I felt them move around in me, felt them push against the walls of my chest, felt them yearn for the warm touch of their mother, their father -
and my heart, it fell apart, came together, melted into a puddle of brightly colored caramel and strawberries, so much that I could almost taste it on my tongue.
My hands shivered, trembled, searched for something to hold on to, clambered to grip into something soft, soft, tender. But the walls, they were so hard, and now they were so close, and I could barely breathe, only inches of breath that crept into my dusty lungs and slowly jumped out again -
leftovers of yesterday -
shimmering eyes, like bubbles, that burst into tiny shards of glimmering specks of silver - they bury themselves deep into my skin - enter me, like tiny fishes -
and I can't breathe -
I can't breathe -
so flimsy -
my hair that's sticking to my face and taking my view of everything -
and maybe my vegetable body, slowly being cut into the tiniest little pieces, ready to be devoured by the hungry mouth of my needy room -
so I feel my blood gushing now, into every corner of my body, filling me up and drowning me with it's bittersweet taste, a trickle of womanhood that finds it's way down my legs, to the potatoes, to the soft fur beneath my skin, to the bubble people who stare at me in contempt and disgust, ready to scratch at my innards with rusting nails -
break apart -
break apart -
break apart -
and then, just so, my heart stopped beating and ushered me into a room with eyes, all of them blinking, crying, lamenting me, lamenting me. I wanted to stop, wanted to curl up and die, but they pushed me on with living, pushed me to the edge, made me reach down between my legs and feel the softness of my own blood, the heat of time that made me gag with nausea.
I looked up, into everything -
reached out with my tiny, tiny hands -
and painted the flesh colored walls with the proof of my being.
I heard my name.
From somewhere out there, beyond the door of my endless chamber.
It reminded me of something - long ago -
but my room talked to me, told me not to stop, made me color the walls more, more, more.