I know that you are home
When I hear the door slam
Shut, and the walls reverberate,
Knocking pictures from the
Walls that I will simply
Pick up once again tomorrow.
But now, I hear your footsteps
Thudding down the hallway,
And I back into the corner,
As you enter the room.
The color drains away as if
You had wiped the color from
The walls and put a lid on
The sun, so that all is left is
The gray, the white, and the
Far-too-dark black.
There is only the dark black
Shadow falling across your
Face, and the pale,
Stark white covering my own face
As I shut my eyes, covering them
With pepper- gray hands.
I never even hear you yell, when
You pick up the bright, white vase
From the dark, black pedestal, and
Suddenly, there is color in the room.

The dark, flowing red of my blood
On your hands.