Introversion.

“Why?
Why won’t you tell me?”
…
This room, 
Gray
Silver
Pewter if you will.
I sigh.
And glance around,
This standstill again.
He has a small set of Newton balls,
They click, clack, tick
Silver.
“I won’t tell you because…”
Click, clack, tick
“Inside me
Everything 
Is romantically beautiful.
It is lace and silk.
It is 
Parchment and ivory and rosebuds.
The world has a sheer and sultry
Haze about it.
Sunlight,
The sunlight is
A perfect blend of
Cream and gold.
Everything
Is dramatic, weighty
Impactful.
Nothing flighty, nothing stupid.
Everything
Is simple and perfect.
It looks as if peered at through
Film.
But step into the real world,
Even a slow,
Maybe tentative step,
And it is harsh.
Everything
Has sharp edges,
Nothing sounds the same or
Looks the same.
The sunlight
Is sinlight
In an unforgiving white.
There is grit and grime
Everywhere.
Stalking,waiting for an inner secret 
From this inner world
To pounce on,
And deface,
Blemish,
Corrupt,
Tarnish
Its wholesomeness and truth.
No, no
Everything
Is safer on the inside.”