It feels and seems like home
It's often just an over decorated room
There may be a comfortable bed
Books and music to entertain you
But pages of the same story bore you
The beats of the same songs ring like an alarm
They try to wake me from my constant act
An act that treats itself as reality
"I'm happy being here."
Yet the thoughts haunt me every night in bed
It feels lonely and almost suffocating
Because the oxygen circulates and never cleanses
Life inside this room is fabricated to look tasteful
And all you want to do is break out
Escape the mental prison you've created at your own will
Because outside never seemed so appealing when the bed you sleep in
Is the same bed that haunts your nightmares
With the loneliness it carries
As others keep rejecting your time outside your own cell
YOU ARE READING
𝗣𝗼𝗲𝘁 𝗠𝗲 𝗔 𝗣𝗼𝗲𝗺
Poetrya collection of letters, poems, and short stories from deep within, a little addiction with it too; welcome to the emotions of the awkward teenage time we all once had.
