White walls

Plastered on the wall, just to break the loud scream of the color white,
is a tiny poster of Che.
His face is made out of "Words that do not match deeds are unimportant."
It's supposed to be ironic.
Your coldness drips into my room, chilly water sapping warmth.
Let it overwhelm me, or leave.
Those are the options I have to count on.
I choose to leave.
Pride could be an issue, but so could broken hearts.
The pieces crunch beneath your feet as you move over me.
No, that wasn't my heart, it was my soul.
Before the white washes over me,
and all the color that once brought life is gone,
I leave you to your own undoing.