White Walls

You showed me my face

when you looked in my eyes.

I used to stare at white walls with cobwebs splintering the corners.

I cried because my veins were hollow

and my skin was cracked like mud from the tremors of my hands.

When you showed me the door,

I found it inside me.

And then I saw my heart.

I still stare at walls.

But they are splattered with paint

that we found in our lungs.

And the breath that we breathe pierces our lungs

until our laugh breaks the

walls.