The wall is tectured with little designs all over, originally yellow but with paint thoroughly covered.
Black like midnight is all to be seen, until the drawings of the chalk have been wiped clean.
Smeared with white remains of art, the wall just waits for a pictures of a cat or a conch or a cart.
Smeared with erased thoughts, my wall just waits for my mind that ties itself in a knot
Was the time worth it? Should I have kept it like before?
Surely it was worth it, with some great art in store.
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