White Room

The walls are painted white.
I can't stand it anymore.
No variation—all is light.
It's all become a bore.
I need to crash
I need a splash
Of color in my life.

The ceiling's low and flat.
It's always so confining.
It needs a bump, it needs a slat,
Some feature more defining.
I'm all boxed in
All over again
And I need an uplifting chat.

The floor is hard and stony.
It hurts my weary feet.
Its color, like the walls, is bony...
White again white meets.
Monotonous
Apocalypse
My world can't end so lonely.

But your eyes and hair are dark.
No white to blot them out.
You're a fierce and lively spark,
Yet find no need to tout.
No flat of which to lecture:
Your voice is creamy, textured,
Melodic like the song of morning larks.

So different, so changing,
You bring routine without the drone:
Rainbows, patterns, textures, tunes,
To the old you bring something new.
Each day you shake me to the bone
And set about rearranging.

How do you do it?

Author's Notes: Hello to Terra Tigra, for it was your first line I have stolen! Hehe. Well, I thought it might be interesting for you to see my interpretation of the line you made a poem from. This is not exactly my best work, but I guess it's decent enough to post. I hope you like it! MJ