She painted her walls, blue and red
As the fall launched into her flat
His spirit, brought by the evening sun,
a beam of light,
scattering through the small windows
of the backyard house on hazy days
It made her face her solitude.
And finally winter came
and stepped into the rooms:
The past enteres the present
the present decents into the past.
The flame runs through her throat,
again
she tries to laugh it out,
she wants to scream,
she moans and shouts in her mind
"It's not real, it's only a dream" .
However, all she can do,
is painting a third wall green.
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