The White

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