The Dead End

Fractured in an open room, lies perfection in itself
Packed behind an open box, on a dusty forgotten shelf

Remainders of a yesterday lost in untouched remedies
As I open up the door to embrace all the long lost memories

I retrace the words from the pen that so gently touched the page
Fingering every broken line, every pictured thought engaged

Entombed in all the darkness, swallowed hole by it's hard tongue
Trying to re captivate the tattered feelings become so numb

Inside this room of broken dreams and seamless little cracks
I find the answer to every question, the lies behind the facts

Muted inside the closet on the far side of the other wall
Seems to scream a silent angel, and the wings that broke her fall

Crystallized tears of failed attempts linger in her expression
As if there's something she's trying to say, perhaps a painful confession

I peer into the drawers I thought were gone only to find it all still there
Still pretending every cut was not made in fatal despair

Staring through the matted sheets beneath the hollow bed
I find a missing element, a piece I assumed was dead

Over to the left in a corner beside the rusted mirror
I still see the lifeless girl that claims no one can hear her

Behind the dresser seems to be a shattered piece of glass
A memoir of the older days that open up the past

I look out of the window only to see the swamped, dead ground
The view of hanging bodies from the tress were never found

Skeletons hang bare, their faces mourn with such dismay
Trying to take the ropes around their neck off, and fly away

I turn to leave this haunted room full of hatred and pain
I try to find the meanings, but the unanswered questions remain

I wonder how it could have happened, I wonder why it would
I wonder how such evil was once perceived as something good

But as I leave a shattered home, I realize what I've known all along
I remember the stairs, the room, the shadows, the enchanted song

And suddenly I understand, this world, this life belonged to me
This darkened world, these shadowed graves were my own fantasy

The angel in the closet, the words etched into those books
The girl inside the mirror with the faded, distorted looks

The bodies in the gardens and their skeletons in the trees
The glass behind the dresser I thought I'd never see

The object under the bed I thought was gone forever
The images I tried to escape, the pain that I endeavor

This house was mine, I lived this nightmare, I slept in that bed
I thought I was living, but as it turned out, I was dead.

[ I didn't know whether I should put this under depression or dark poems, but I decided on depression because the room I speak of is the room that has all my depressive memories, even though the poem is slightly on the "dark side". I imagined myself as a ghost going through my room now, except everything was gone, it was just a colorless room with my furniture, no carpet, clothes, books, nothing. Just a bare, dusty room. I don't really know where I got the idea, I just started writing and let my words take me away ....

Hope you enjoy.