The Rooms of My Mind

These rooms. The smell. Stale. Stacks of forgotten books. Pages chewed by rats. The windows are broken and the walls have holes. Paint and wallpaper peeled away. The years have been harsh. I run my finger over what was green checkered paint. I shiver. What is it about this place. I see it off the highway everyday. It taunts me. "Come here" it hisses. Is it sad or sinister? The floors creak in pain and shadows run away at a side glance. I move freely in silence between spaces. I feel welcome. I feel hated. Theres a larger room at the back. It's just bits of a charred frame now. A fire had taken its character away long ago. The air still here. I don't feel alone. I don't feel welcome. I see a piece of unburnt paper at my feet. It's out of place. I recognize it from a book of the dead. Nothing rests at peace here. I'm overwhelmed with emotions that I don't own. Tears fall. I drop the piece of paper. It blows away yet there's no breeze. I quietly utter an apology for trespassing. I’m cold. It's time to go. I step over a pile of burnt wood and old brick. The letters SW are scratched in the material. Those are my initials. A voice in the wind that has appeared without reason trails past my ears. "Staaaay" Hell no! I walk away faster. Pictures on a wall. I know I've seen these. The people in them are watching me. Their stares reach deep inside me. More tears. This is their hallowed ground. Two minutes ago I cried here. Two hundred years ago I died here.