I sit in a white room
It has a sterile fume
Everything is without color
Including myself, who by the minute feels smaller.
However, as if to spite
Something interrupts the white
A bucket containing blood
It flowed from my mouth like a flood
From my inside, set afire
Set afire like my body wanting to expire
Set afire like my dry tongue
Set afire like my emotions left unsung
It burns, the pain, like any slow death
As I lay down, unaware it might be my last breath
I sit back up and refuse