The Room Without Doors

The Room Without Doors

I live inside a room of sighs,

Its walls hum softly, a mournful song,

No windows show the passing world,

No doors remain to let me go.

The floor remembers every step I took,

Each echo folded into dust and shadow,

The air is thick with unspoken names,

Whispering through the corners of thought.

Candles burn with reluctant flame,

Their wax melting slow like weary time,

Light bends and stretches, uncertain,

Casting shapes that are not my own.

I talk to echoes that wear my face,

They answer back with hollow tones,

Their voices like wind through paper stones,

Saying nothing and saying it all.

The chair waits, silent, patient,

Its cushion pressed by memories I cannot shake,

The walls lean close to listen,

And breathe out sighs I cannot contain.

Time itself seems trapped here,

Minutes fold into hours that fall into nights,

I pace the room and find no escape,

Every thought a chain, every breath a link.

Shadows gather, forming quiet shapes,

They sit with me and speak in silence,

The air hums, a living thing,

A keeper of all that is lost.

I close my eyes, yet still I see,

Faces I cannot name, hands I cannot hold,

The room inhales, holding me within,

And I remain, endlessly, among the sighs.