white walls

Oh, hello, I know you.
All too well actually.
It’s you – The cap V
victim, the role you know
so well. The pain so
exquisitely aching that it’s almost
sticky sweet.
My mouth waters.
It’s almost Pavlovian.
But you no longer
satisfy the way you
once did. The glass in
the throat is no longer
swallowed.

Something has changed.

My secret weapon of
magnanimity looks
dull and archaic
now. I no longer want
to bring it out.
Do I really not care on some
level or is this a sign of
healthy change?
The fact that I’m telling you
is Something.
The fact that I notice
is alone a breakthrough.

So I enter a new room.
There’s no adornment on
the walls. There’s nothing
pretty or familiar.

I used to say I hate to admit this,
but right now admitting feels nice.
Admitting feels different,
and the white walls around
me have a comforting
tone, an egg-shell newness
that is soothing
and the mechanical hum of
the furnace now sounds
more like a purr.

white walls

Cynthia Torroll

Joined May 2011

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Artist's Description

3 a.m. 11.14.12 clt

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  • Donna19
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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