I open the door and think death waits besides the door. i keep chasing the light. i come out and look to my left, then to my right. then to my left. i see my own shadow. I wash my hands and look up at myself, the shadow now stands besides me. i see i keep chasing the light. i fall down, and blood paints the tiles. they stain even after cleaning them for 2 weeks. death comes out of the closet. I wake up in my bed. a little poppy blooms outside my window. my hair are chapped. and my clothes are crumbled. i smell bad. my mother stinks and says slurs and calls me a pig. she pulls the comb through and through my curly hair, they look untidy to her. she tears a few pieces of scalp with it. i don't say anything. I walk and walk but these tiles never end. every tile is stained with blood. the light is nowhere. i find my dad, and then the people close to my heart standing on the road, the road twists and turns, I look into them, my father has a kind of sadness the life gives you and you cannot give it back. my mom is at home. i don't see her here. i look and look, and their best versions stand in front of me, how they looked the most happy, wide smiles and blushing cheeks, but their eyes, are inexplicably sad. like the saddest they've ever been. i take the twists and turns, i am worried for someone. the air is dry and with dust. i cough and cough. it looks like a less populated area. the sky is in pieces and boxes. i take the turns and twists. i look at the closet.
