The Room With The Broken Clock
Ever have one of those days where you feel so lonely, but really only want to be left alone?
Here's some crap free-verse poetry. I guess I'm just in that kind of mood.
In this room, time stands still.
At least that is what she tells herself.
The clock is stuck at three fourty-three.
Give or take fourty seconds, to be precise.
She shut the shades as tight as they would go.
But it's not as if the sun wants to see her either.
It's hiding pleasantly behind it's blanket of clouds.
Forget that it's there at all.
Just here in her cave, she listens to silence.
No singing, no humming, no ticking.
She thinks it may be scaring her.
But still, she listens. She always listens.
Under the blankets, it's even safer still.
Maybe she can stay forever.
Forget about air, forget about people.
Forget about her future.
The room, her room. It's blue and quiet.
Dark and still. Would she wish it any other way?
If it were bright, would she bask or cower?
What if someone else was there?
She tells herself, as long as the clock doesn't move, time stands still.
She hears the worried, "are you okay?"
Is she? Am I? "Yes."
But her yes sounds more like "go away".
She doesn't think of where she's going.
It only hurts. It hurts her that she's hurting others.
When did life become so impossible?
This game cannot be won.
Is she going stir crazy? In the room alone?
Is she rocking out of insanity or comfort?
Everything reminds her of how lost she is out side this room.
So she hides.
Here's some crap free-verse poetry. I guess I'm just in that kind of mood.
In this room, time stands still.
At least that is what she tells herself.
The clock is stuck at three fourty-three.
Give or take fourty seconds, to be precise.
She shut the shades as tight as they would go.
But it's not as if the sun wants to see her either.
It's hiding pleasantly behind it's blanket of clouds.
Forget that it's there at all.
Just here in her cave, she listens to silence.
No singing, no humming, no ticking.
She thinks it may be scaring her.
But still, she listens. She always listens.
Under the blankets, it's even safer still.
Maybe she can stay forever.
Forget about air, forget about people.
Forget about her future.
The room, her room. It's blue and quiet.
Dark and still. Would she wish it any other way?
If it were bright, would she bask or cower?
What if someone else was there?
She tells herself, as long as the clock doesn't move, time stands still.
She hears the worried, "are you okay?"
Is she? Am I? "Yes."
But her yes sounds more like "go away".
She doesn't think of where she's going.
It only hurts. It hurts her that she's hurting others.
When did life become so impossible?
This game cannot be won.
Is she going stir crazy? In the room alone?
Is she rocking out of insanity or comfort?
Everything reminds her of how lost she is out side this room.
So she hides.