Letter to My Room

To my room,

Oh, the nights I spent in your atmosphere
Feeling disgusted with myself and the world around me
Room, I avoid you, don’t you know it?
Straining the last bit of dusk-time sunlight through your Venetian blinds

Quiet, disturbing taps of the solar-dancing figurine against your window
As I sit and sob in complete silence, it’s background music
How many versions of myself must exist in your space? You stay the same!
I am utterly alone in your unsettling, isolated plane of existence

You are just a room, and I should not be so bothered by you
I feel silly for feeling traumatized when I am existing here
But I couldn’t hardly begin to explain the shivering feeling you give me
Standing in your doorway feels like a corpses’ hand grabbing my shoulder

I feel sick thinking of having to sit in your presence alone.
Your choking ambience nearly throttles me, reminding me of my seclusion
I am detached from the rest of the world, no matter what
Conversations had in here are always too terse and that frightens me

I hid away in you once, used you as a sense of comfort
What happened to that, I really do wonder
Could it be that since I hid away from the yelling of supposed parents
Those memories became entrapped within the foundation of your walls?

Yours,
[redacted]