If My Head Were A Room

If my head were a room, the first thing you'd feel is a cold that cuts you like knives.

If my head were a room, you wouldn't see a thing and fear that you might of gone blind.

If my head were a room, you'd never know of things outside. Surrounded by walls lacking windows.

If my head were a room, the walls would be faded and warped. Bleached with time and worn by apathy.

If my head were a room, all the doors would be locked. Bolted with heavy chains unmovable by man or beast.

If my head were a room, the walls would be covered in splintered frames. All lacking pictures with exposed hook and wire.

If my head were a room, the floors would reek of rot and mold. Dampened by tears that never quite dried.

If my head were a room, you might find a journal. Page to page; empty and crisp. Except for the last, that read, "I wish,"