This floor, I do not mind.
It is not impenetrable.
I can still feel the quake beneath my feet.
Despite its lacquer finish that attempts to hide the worm holes,
I can still hear the buzzing
and feel the vibration of insects
I quite like it, really
the sound of all that chaos.
It is a welcome reprieve from the mortuary silence within these clean white walls
and this pretty floor that, try as it might,
cannot hide from me all that clamors for my attention.
But this ceiling
this ceiling is a problem.
It too shines as if no spider ever dare crawl across its surface.
I could lie here naked upon this cool, smooth floor looking up into the eternal void of this antiseptic ceiling.
I could lie here and feel the rumble of armies storming forth from the core.
I could press my back into the wood just to feel the pummels of the invading marauders.
I could enjoy it.
I would enjoy it
if not for this ceiling.
This clean, white ceiling
that keeps me safe,
that keeps me here.