My Book Of Poems

No Rooms In Order

I subtly walk

And there I find

A messy room

Residing a pair of messy eyes

Clothes scattered

Leftovers amassed

I suddenly can't remember

How much time has passed

Tiny teeth and beady eyes

Moving about

I'm not surprised

The fragance is worse

But there is no trace

Of rose petals and vanilla

Was there an autopsy case?

A layer of dust covers the corners

Lined with cobwebs

I see nothing but blurs

And there is a stillness

Of uncomforting cold

Followed by the sound

Of nothing moving no more

Mold and dirt hangs from the ceiling

It seems the swamp monster and Dirty Bubble had some sort of special dealing

And there is a sign

Of a room that has aged

Over the years

Rapidly filling with rage

It was given no chance

Or any sort of hope

To be fixed so long ago

When someone once had the tolerance to cope

And now for the lack

One is desperate to see

It was never properly taken care of

No signal or low battery

Despair and depression are vastly consumed

Through the heart of a little girl

Who just wants a nice home to belong to

In my own heart I hear her weep

Longing for a safe and warm bed to sleep

I can feel her madness

And she believes she's already gone crazy

My head starts to pound and my vision gets hazy

I sit down on the damaged, worn out, matted down floor

And press my pale face against the ice cold door

I let out a deep sigh

The only sign of life left in this room

It disappears in a cloud of lackluster white

As if kissing to cut through the gloom

An opaque tear streams down my face

And falls

The size of a quarter

This is a madhouse place

That once confined a lost soul

A room not in order