This Room

I find myself in this habitation,
Unsure how I ended up in this tomb.
Buried since creation or here from existing,
Either way I’m confined in this room.

I stare at the door that never seems to open,
Latched are the eight locks I relentlessly count.
Protecting everyone from me or preventing everyone for me,
Either way I obsess over the amount.

I look around all alone in this darkness,
Not sure of this rooms true dimensions.
An immense space of desolation or an enclosed void of suffocation,
Either way a slave of my own inventions.

I always knew there has never been a bed here,
This chamber never permits slumber.
For illusions to consume me or devour my nightmares,
Either way it leaves me to endlessly encumber.

I only see glimpses of objects,
Articles of discomfort and neglect.
Diminutive moments of agony or abundant haunting flashes,
Either way in this room I reflect.