White is the colour of purity, isn't it?
I'm sitting here, in this snow-white bathtub, the yellowy-white sheet of paper torn out of an old notebook
is pressed against the tiled wall,
the glistering white foam is forming itself into cloudy castles.
My hair mask is white, too,
it's coconut flavoured.
I'm sitting here, in the place, the only place, where my mind gives me some rest,
where I don't indulge into those scary games of hating your own guts and trying to care for them at the same time.
I'm not at rest, though.
The words are spilling from my pen
like tea from a cup thrown off the table
by a fluffy cat.
The tea is mint flavoured and rich in taste.
It is forming itself into a pool on the floor, of uncertain shape, otherwise known as
Welcome to my mind.
I am the Queen here.
But only in this white kingdom, the kingdom of purity where the least pure things take place.