Sitting

In a tiny, white room.

So clean,

So empty,

So perfectly silent.



She feels too

Dirty

For this room,

So she tries not to touch

The walls,

But the room

Is built like a

Playhouse

For a five year old

And she accidentally touches

The walls

Anyway.



The room's air

Is too pure

For her;

She doesn't want to

Taint it,

So she holds

Her breath,

But she can only hold it

For so long,

And in a matter of seconds

She gasps for

The air

She doesn't deserve.



The room echoes

When she moves,

So she sits

With her body

Unmoving,

But her limbs

Have minds of their own,

And twitch and shake

And move

Against

Her free will

And the fragile silence

Is broken.



Sitting

In a tiny, white room.

Now,

So filthy,

So full,

And

So excruciatingly loud.