The yellow stench seeps into my mind and controls me.
It drips from the corners of the wallpaper like sour milk.
It whispers in the voice of someone I forgot.
It tells me I will never remember who I was before the bell rang.
It promises good fortune, but not what it means by that.
I’m still waiting. I’m still late.
They said she slipped away in her sleep.
But I saw the stains.
The way the eyes didn’t close.
The silence under the table wasn’t peace, it was waiting.
Waiting for someone else to see.
Waiting for the drop to fall again.