sitting in solitude,
a silent seat.
scratch at the white walls,
maybe they were actually grey.
stare at the white walls as they distort into your favorite colors.
the blues, the reds, all the shades.
the cushion, the thread, all the materials.
they sit right infront of you,
all you need to create.
floating needle of thread swishes in silence.
the chair starts to come together.
a chair of solitude,
the very throne you lay upon.
the very seat you tell all your secrets to.
the variety of colors jumps off the walls and enter some other ones.
the ones cemented in your very being.
the quiet turns virbrant as you shut your eyes tight.
strings turn thicker, into veins,
and thread you together.
nerves of solitude spill next to every muscle of dull static.
a silent seat you become.
sitting in solitude is all you do.
the white walls scratch at you.

June 3rd, 2019