There was once a boy who lived in a room. It was not an unpleasant room, full of hope and games for the mind. The boy was incapable of leaving the room except when it was time to eat..when it was expedient to him. Although the room was well-equipped to his needs, he thought it loathsome and full of hate. He despised the joy he saw outside. The darkness in the room embraced him for these thoughts. It told him that it wasn't his fault. It told him that everything would turn out okay. It kept him from the outside as often as possible. IT folded this silently tortured boy into its arms and wished him a bright future. Wished him a future that would be realized someday. Not today. The boy trusted the dark. He trusted the room. He loved the idea that everything was someone else's problem. Whenever the room took him by the hand he loved it more. He loved the room, for the room told him lies. No one had spoken lies to him in a long time. No one had said anything to him in a long time. He was lonely. The room, the dark, made him feel loved, if only in a dream, so he loved it back. The room had a song, a cry that touched no one's pale and dying heart. He created the room so that no one would hurt him ever, ever again. So he still sits in the room. Unhurt. Unfeeling. He who cannot be reached can also never be saved. Ever. Ever. But there is still hope... there is always a door, locked from the inside. All it needs is an outside force. A loving hand to open that door and let in the light.
Reason for writing:
There is never an inspiration for a poem. Not mine. Not anybody's.
Birth sign: Aquarius
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