Rooms

You look around her room and think

It’s a perfect picture of her,

Her favorite activities,

Favorite colors and hobbies.

You think she leads the perfect life.

You think this room shows the real her.

Yet her room doesn’t show it all.

It doesn’t show her true feelings.

Her room doesn’t tell of the pain,

Of her unbearable sorrow,

The dark swirl of her emotions.

This room of hers, it’s not her.

Her real room, it’s all in her head.

Her real room is the murkiest black.

Sad darkness with flashes of pain.

The sparks of her pain get brighter,

Yet the darkness ever deepens.

And no one ever notices.

There are flickers of happiness,

Of the room that you can see here.

But as the depression gets worse,

They happen less and less often.

But no one looks past the bright room.

No one bothers looking deeper.

Eventually she’ll retreat,

Retreat from this cruel, heartless world.

Enter the dark room, never leave.

When she can stand it no longer,

A sharp slash or quick drop ends it.

As life fades, the rooms become one.