Inside Me

Comfort is a treasure hunt,

You keep looking for it,

At every point of your life,

As though someone hid it.

***

You think it’s the little bolster of yours,

As it puts you in deep sleep,

But you turn to your pillow at sixteen,

As life puts you in deep weep.

***

You think it’s the imaginary friend of yours,

As she never left your side.

Once you start making real friends,

The imaginary one is not in sight.

***

You think it’s the friend of yours,

As they make you strive.

You graduate and grow apart,

Apparently, they got a life.

***

You think it’s the love of yours,

As they give you the rope called hope.

Only for you to notice blood dripping down,

As shards of glass coat the rope.

***

You think it’s the job of yours,

As you feel accomplished,

Feeble catches up,

Your time to live life vanished.

***

Outside, I have always looked,

Inside, it’s always been.

***

Me, myself and I was the ultimate comfort.

A little narcissistic?

Perhaps, but when in tears,

You’re the only one that sticks.

***

“In a quest for comfort?”

Look into the mirror,

Not to adjust your appearance,

But your inner balance,

Where your comfort is a camper.