Orange pours in like a bright flame in the night, hitting the innocent flowers perched on the ceil.
They are light pink almost white and dark pink almost purple, but from here they are red.
Crimson petals drop rays of fire on the bags below, holding stupid hope's and lost dreams.
Oh and how much I urn for the flames that dance in my mind to set a blaze to the dark would around me.
My stomach is turning as if I stole a bit from the bloody flowers calling me from the window ceil.
I turn my nose up at the few scattered bags full of clothing and health care that only bring pain.
I feel sick, I feel pain, I feel confused, but how real that f