It’s got to go.

Superfluous flowers crawling

                                              up the walls

                                                                   and onto the ceiling.

                               Purple and blue assaults.

                                                                                                               Green bombs.

A florid pattern that makes me want to shut the door.

 Lock it in.

                             I think it’s growing.

                                                                               Is it growing?

Quick!

               Get a knife!

No!  A scraper or anxious fingernails

                                                                 that have been waiting

                                                  to tear

                            the jungle

         down.

Clean cut white would be nice.

And steely grey would cut the memory from our eyes.

I think grey would be okay.

Don’t you?