Mind Games

There’s one place I go to, quite frequently I may add.
It’s quiet and secluded from everything, but most importantly, everyone.
No one knows of this room,
The color is taupe with bare walls all except one picture.
The floor is slate and cold to the touch.
This box seemed to get bigger the longer I was there
But the air seemed to get thinner by the second. 
One chair. One picture frame. And no door.
No means of escape. 
The chair, posed so that you are gazing into the picture frame.
Sitting. Staring. Thinking.
The picture, hanging on the wall, mocking you.
Look at it closer. What is it? What does it mean? What do you see?
The longer you look the more distorted it becomes.
You throw your head into your hands and try to catch your breath.
The room, getting bigger. The air, getting thinner.
Slowing raising your head from the grips of your hands you look into the frame,
Only this time, it’s not a picture.
Looking back at you, in the eyes, is yourself.
Sitting. Staring. Thinking.
You and only you.
Nothing there, no one there, just your thoughts.
Sitting. Staring. Thinking.

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Okonkwo Ifeanyichukwu

Date: 1/10/2019 10:06:00 AM

Beautiful poem

Caren Krutsinger

Date: 12/21/2018 9:31:00 PM

Nicole, this reminds me of an experience I had many many moons ago. I had forgotten about it. But now I remember and the "sitting, staring, thinking" is what I truly do remember. It was an experiment to sit in a room with only a mirror and a candle. I am glad you wrote this poem, I feel it was to give me back this memory. Welcome to Poetry Soup.