besides my house
i have a gallery
i can describe it for you
it is very big
and tall
tall as a skyscraper
it is guarded by playing cards
unusually
my gallery is blank
inside it, i can't paint anything
or draw something
it's white
it's pale
just like
a normal person's world
when you go inside my gallery
you feel like you're in
a white infinity
just like death
but with light
i tried erasing my gallery
but i can't
it's just stamped there
whenever father looks at the window
for too long
i'm afraid
can he see my gallery?
no
one time it spoke to me
my gallery
it was one pm
we had a long conversation
under the lilac starry sky
maybe i can call it a friend
why not?
my gallery can be my friend
YOU ARE READING
artbook
Poetry// it's not something as mere as smelling colors and tasting letters, it's something like painting fish in the middle of the sky and drawing dragons in the middle of town. something like having the world as your artbook. \\
