I have a red quilt.
Full of yarn, now falling to many pieces.
Squares weaved in non-parallel lengths.
It shines with the warmth it once provided,
But now feels as cold as a revengeful enemy.
Since When? Not sure. Why? Just is.

I walk through the hallway,
Of peculiar looking tiles and smudged paint on the walls.
Ceilings bombarded by rough patches-
Uneven, crooked, and dark like hell.
My quilt, flying around aimlessly.
Why? Not sure. Since When? Just is.

Above the cold surface,
I’m still cool, calm, and collective.
I look at myself. What do I see?
Emptiness, loss, eccentricity,
Then…
Pride, love, dignity, and valor.
I know this because
I am eccentric. I go to the far ends
Of the earth and back...and
I have a red quilt.
Full of yarn, now falling to many pieces.