His room was a sickly dual-tone of crimson and charcoal, like an Untitled Rothko, the colours bleeding into each other horribly and then rather serenely. The overall effect was overwhelmingly unapologetic but it grew on you like a wart on your nose you didn't realise it was a part of your identity until one day it simply was. His room was his identity. Fiercely bold, avant-garde but never monotonous. He was red, he was black, he was bored, and he was fire. At least to me he seemed like fire. A tornado of fire that burned all in its wake leaving only the wretched brightness of annihilation. His room was where he charmed and disarmed us. We were his playthings. Nobody plays with fire and leaves unscarred. The fire soon seeps into chard and soot. The colours of his soul, his aura, and probably his heart if he didn't stop smoking.Moonshine Noire
About This Quote
This is an extremely powerful and provocative poem about one's personal space, but the last lines especially make this quote a great one to live by. This poem tells you that your personal space and humanity should not be taken advantage of. We all need a sanctuary where we can relax and focus. Whether it is a room or something more private, we all need an area to be alone and someone special to share those thoughts with.
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