i make check marks on the wall

one for every mistake in bright red to the north

one for every failure in blue to the south

one for every hope in green to the east

and for every dream that comes true in black to the west

to the north it is a wildfire sweeping down, a rectangle of blood

the south is a serene ocean view, like a sheet of ice untouched by global warming

the east is a forest, an aerial view of the amazon, peaceful and verdant

the west has a couple scuff marks, a smudge where i tried to erase a tiny accidental spot

i play the floor is lava some days while i stare at the check marks from the comfort of my blanket fort on the couch

play sad music i swear i will delete, just one more time, as my tears hit the floor and sizzle, hundreds of vapor waves greet me

and i stare to the west

think of all the times i stood with the black marker shaking and almost made a tick before the floor turned to magma again

i don’t leave often because the door is to the south and i can’t bear to pass through the miasma of shame that drips in the layered blue of my eternal failing

my bed lies north but too many vivid memories of mistakes made back there taunt me

my mistakes and my failures blend into the wall of green in little cartoon hearts of brown and teal that dance along the corners

as another song of loss fills the air and the lava level rises i pull my feet up

i need to go out and do something

be a part of the world

find that person who understands

but i am sure she is as real as the black check marks i almost drew

the ceiling is covered with drawings of her, a sistine chapel connect the dots, my hand extended to her as she looks away

i long to break the chains, repaint the walls, wipe the drywall clean

but so much of who i am is tied up in those markings

and the floor is lava

if you have an asbestos heart i will be sitting here, awaiting an end, happy or sad, just the final punctuation on the run on sentence that is existence

staring to the west