Wallpaper Flowers

Grinning I tear the wallpaper down. Flowers all over it. White flowers and red flowers pink flowers. I tear them all down, the paper shoving under my fingernails.

I do it because of the peeling — the noise, like the paper is saying, “Peeeeeel.” The ripping. The spotted dry wall behind it trying to keep hold of it, trying to keep from letting go.

I make a pile of it on my bed and that night I sleep on the pile. Dead flowers cling to all parts of my body as I roll in my sleep. In the morning I look like a menagerie of disjointed gardens and old, dry glue. I make crinkle crinkle noises as I get up and move about my house with bare walls. The petals brush against one another and try to rip one another off of me.

I eat the remaining food in my refrigerator and all the condiments. I remove all the shelves from inside and sit in the empty area, closing the door behind me. I don’t want these flowers to wilt and die.