Well, I thought I was making art here, thought I would show this white room how to be red. I only wanted to be confetti falling across this white gown, arms strapped down. I won’t do it again. I won’t. Because you ruined the picture I was painting, you shot poison into my veins and wiped my slate clean. My thoughts settled into the white noise, I could not resist the peace. So does that mean you saved me? No. Because there’s still so many colors waiting to bust from under this gown, still so many shades locked under restraints…. and I’m telling you.. when you untie these hands, I’m going to turn this room into words that paint walls with forever from the good vein. I’m going out with Poetry, raw and unbandaged, just to show you… pushing someone over the edge doesn’t mean you saved them. Sometimes the destruction is beautiful, but only if you look the colors in the face… look me in the face, like you didn’t take my life when you tied my hands.