Behind My Door


I don’t go out, I’m in a room,
I read a book, I’m in a womb,
This is my place, I know it well,
‘Tis my burden, my private hell.

No place to go, save in my head,
At times I wish that I was dead,
I hope, one day, to leave this place,
And rejoin the Human Race.

The clock ticks on, hour by hour,
As it passes, I turn dour.
So here I sit, I’m all alone,
One day I might turn to stone.

My life bleeds out upon the floor,
My boat has yet to come to shore,
I wait in vain (or so it feels),
For my brief to make her deals.

I hope; but hope will fade away,
I laugh; but laughter’s had its day,
A dried out husk, is all I’ll be,
An empty shell, for all to see.


By: Phil