My purplish-red curtains preserved me, guarded me.
The thickness of coverage needed never be pulled.
I warned you, I cried, I hid, I held my curtains tight.
But you, the curator, the rescuer, pulled them open.

Look at the dinginess, the lines of wreckage of my soul.
You can see all of the rottenness, molds and a sick tree.
You cannot remove it, cannot clean it, so you swim in it.
while I run away to spend my days in lakes of shame.

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Today’s Picture Prompt Challenge at One Stop Poetry inspired me and I cooked something for it. The photographer, Jacob Lucas, has brilliant work – Check out his site.