How about you keep these walls white, she says.
But what we all forget is that everything is eventually tainted by time
And the experiences that we all share.
I always forget to put the dust cover on my
Record player. It gathers dust
Like no tomorrow until the needle skips and scratches and
Scars the melody that plays.
And so, the walls that were once white
Will peel and crack and break
And grow old and weary and yellow.
I take the spray cans
And I paint for myself
A mural of what I see. Time will
Destroy this as well anyways.
I let the paint drip down my arms and pool on the floor
As I take a single step back to look
At the beautiful mess I’ve made.