The Room
The walls of past transgressions,
Are closing in on me,
Slowly creeping closer and closer,
As the door to freedom locks tight,
The floorboards squeak,
Full of guilt,
They bend unwillingly,
Pain in each step i take,
Life is a ceiling fan,
One circular path spining,
Neither fast or slow speeds can change the outcome,
The Flourecent light of my world dims,
Ten pops violently,
Securing my frustration,
Nothing but a broken mirror remains,
I look into it,
Seeing an untainted reflection,
Of distorted reality.
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