Just a few days it is Until the 17th. Just a few days it is— Then I’ll be 17. Seventeen on the seventeenth—what a dream. Only a few days That will feel so long, Longer than any day before And any yet to come. I look around and see— White, white everywhere! I no longer recognize the chair, The chair that stood here yesterday, The chair that clearly Was too dangerous. I no longer see the bed With its restraints, The bed that clearly Was too dangerous. I look around and see— White everywhere in the room. I see the pane, Only one pane, so black— Black as the only color In the room of white. I’m supposed to rest And find some calm. I do that so unwillingly, Yet hardly sleep at all. Three days, One room! Three days, A dream!? I look around: Patterns on the wall— Fine patterns, and clearly A message, bizarre! Days pass— Or is it only minutes, Seconds, or even hours? I look around: Patterns, patterns everywhere. I see the patterns, The patterns in the wall. I call for help, For help so loud. The help arrives— I fall asleep so fast. Three days, One room. Three days, A dream!?? I look around: Messages, messages in the wall. The patterns are clearer, And more beautiful, too. Am I the only one Who manages to see them? No! Am I really That important? I am not alone In the room now. Friendly voices Help me quickly. How can the others— The men in white— Not see the patterns, When they are clear as text! I speak so fast, In languages even That only a god Could manage to speak. A god in a room As big as my bed, A god locked in A room so white. Three days, One room? Three days, A dream. Three days, One room— Sadly, No dream.
