Sickbed

My eyes are becoming yellow curtains
Paint the window
Stain the ceiling feverish green
My visitors smoked cigarettes
And ate all the things that had me feeling unwell
Everything that came out of me was wrong-colored
Or wasn’t at all
The voices below rise through the window
Failing to make me well
Knocking on the door from the inside
Taking pictures of my room one last time
I can’t live, without