I've confined myself to the same four walls for many years. You'd think I'd be sick of seeing that grey color by now but what them four walls do for me is unexplainable. I sit in silence and listen to my teardrops patter to the floor and I watch them stain my bed covers and wait patiently for it to evaporate, disappear until the next falls to its death. I sit in complete joy as I transport myself to another realm. A place of beauty, simplicity and calm while the big wooden structure gently rests under my arm. I scream into my pillow, punch it and myself in rage, preparing myself for the next hard hit, hoping it will bruise. Hoping there will be a reminder of it tomorrow. A reminder that I've gotten through it. I lie in peaceful bliss, I often hear distant voices but I'm confused. It scares me but relaxes me as if a drug has been released into my system. I sometimes swear I can feel a soft hand caress my forehead as I lay in a nostalgic state, curled up on my right side. The only comfort I get is when im too tired to cry, explaining how scared I am of the unknown. I have to be alone.
