the walls in my room are
painted blue--
my ceiling, every time I look
at it, feels new.
I have grown to be comfortable
in my silence,
I have accepted the futility
of my existence and
I still want to live another day.
I have grown to love
the war in my head,
the bombardment
of severe fantasies
so much that I gave it
a name, your name.
so now I have grown
to love the rot.
I am waiting for the war
to leave
as you did.

I look up, I look
long and hard at the ceiling
of my blue walled room.
I feel blue,
I probably bleed blue too.
© Anmol