No story in mind

From inside moist walls

Can hear the sound of rain

Sunk in my armchair

I try to write a story

Perhaps a red-haired woman?

I pause, sipping my coffee

I look at the coffee

And see dark walls

On the cup a red woman

Speckled by brown rain

I strain to listen to her story

And rest my head on the back of the chair

It’s an old leather chair

As leathery brown as coffee

It squeaks out an old story

Of blood-stained walls

Blood running like rain

Or tears on the face of that woman

But I can never be that woman

Sitting so comfortably on my chair

I stop writing, try to be the rain

Beating so wildly against my coffee

And I can’t get rid of the daily walls

Getting in the way of my story

What would it take to make a good story

Perhaps a man, love, murder and a woman

The man with his brains bashed against the walls

Knocked out by the leathery armchair

Doubtful, I stir my lukewarm coffee

And listen to the quiet feet of the rain

My daydreams drift with the rain

I drop my pen, leave my story

In the red cup no more coffee

I slowly sink back into my chair

And blindly stare at the mirrors on the wall

And see multiple and multiple faces of the same woman.

Coffee dissolve into rain

Under, over the walls, erasing my story

Drowning the woman in the leather armchair