Florilegium of Untold Writings

The struggle of the living metaphor

My safe haven is quite a mess
I've got tons of my fears kept locked in a Pandora's box
my goals that are in a heap on the corner
what ifs got tangled with expectations
they vary of colors depending on my mood
most of them are in darker shades of gray

gloomy expression dawned on my face
as it reflects on the ambiance around me
crumpled plans are thrown everywhere
some are covered with cobwebs
I haven't taken a glance on it since then
shards of broken dreams scattered on the floor
as the bigger ones glinted under the moonlight that seep through the window

I saw the outline of my aura
on my torn in half mirror
its edges were sharp and dark
as if they were sketched roughly by an angry artist
but then they were outshone with the harsh bruises and scars
that made an appearance on my dry canvas

I was pale as these creamy white walls that moved in sync
and it's starting to suffocate me
my senses went haywire
and I was hearing beeping sounds that seemed to flatlined
a sign that I've been waiting for
to wake up from a deep slumber