My Room

Deafening echoes reverberate off the walls.
Walls painted black by years of neglect.
Walls forming a very small room.
With a floor made of long-lost dreams and aspirations.
No door.
No window.
No light.
Beautiful.

In the center of the room, I sit.
Unable to think clearly.
Why is it so loud?
I only need a moment of peace.
What I wouldn’t give for a moment of peace.
Unable to open my eyes, for fear of what I might see.
And when I finally muster the courage, I wish that I hadn’t.

Filth.
That’s all I see around me.
People living meaningless lives.
Blissfully ignorant.
Secure in their insecurity.
Wearing masks that I discarded long ago.
But their masks do not come off.

Lies.
Everything is blurry.
But everything is clear.
The room has sucked every good feeling from my body.
But it has given me clarity.
Unveiled the truth.
Spoiled the illusion.
Now, I see.
I understand.

Invisible.
I am concealed by life itself.
I roam unseen and unheard.
Trying, unsuccessfully, to be accepted.
My failures led me to this room.
My pain molded the key.
My rage turned it.
A sacrifice of numb emotion.
For a room where I can be me.
Where me is all there is.
He actually acknowledges me.
He speaks to me.

Secrets.
The room has gained wisdom.
It was forced upon him by life’s cruelties.
And the room shares everything with me.
He has shown me the path.
And why it is the right one.
Why it makes more sense than anything else.
The room wants the path for himself.
Since he cannot take it, I will take it for him.
And through me, my room will be at peace.

Peace.
I have never had a purpose.
Nothing to live for.
Nothing to die for.
That is the past now.
My purpose was given to me.
I want to thank you, room.
I want to thank you, me.