White walls will only know the story

Surrounded  by the same color.
Everywhere she looks,
It's all the same!
White walls,
closing in.
Inch by inch,
Hour by hour.

And so I grip it tighter.
Pulling the item to my chest.

She's going insane!
Crazy with this color!
Why does it have to be white?
Anything eles would be nice.
Why do they stare at her so intensely.
An empty gaze from an empty color.

Looking down into the thick liquid
a special smile slips to my lips.

She can't escape it!
As much as she fights,
pouding fists against the empty color.
Nothing, no reaction, no movement.
White walls,
White floor,
White door.
Everything is white!

Sliding a hand under the bucket,
Adding a new sort of spice to this old room.

Why can't she get out?
No windows,
no air.
What's wrong with this place?!
Why can't she get out?
Then it strikes her...
She'll get out
by painting the floor red...

I throw the liquid to the wall,
watching as the gold paint fly towards the wall.

It's the end of her story,
so many years ago.
She's been forgotten now.
Never will anyone hear of her.

And as my paint strikes the wall,
at that very moment years ago,
she fell to her knees where I stood.
Taking in her last breath.

But never will I hear of her.
And never will I know why the floor was painted red.
Only these old white walls will know,
but even they will forget,
for they will no longer be white walls.