widowless

Its a perfect square this room I'm in.
Its cold dark and bland.
But when the sun shines in,
 it is as soft as cotton candy.
Its small emotionless and clammy,
I curl into a ball and cry.
But when that sun shines in
I believe I just might get by
the only noise i hear is my own deep sigh,
 my head hurts my stomach aches
until that sunshine walks in,
and my heart is what the sunshine takes
Now heres the tricky part of this room
there is no window or skylight
so how does the light get in you ask
ill tell you I'm not up for the task
of knowing when or why the sunlight teases me
it uses its magical key you see
its just to bad it wont stay long
the sunlight keeps moving along
while I remain here in this room
just waiting for the light to return.

Idk why i wrote this poem, im not a poet so i know its no good.  Here ill do my regular post in describing this room im talking about, without trying to be artsy

This room is perfectly square, it is cold dark and bland.  Its clamy and emotionless.  the walls are completely white.  Theres one table, completely clear.  the room is tidy and cleaned up. The only charater in the room is a white board with writings from other students study sessions.  you're here for one purpose.  To feel the sunshine on your skin, your head, and your heart.  It feels so good on a miserable body.  the thing is there are no windows, and now way for sunlight to get in, yet this is where its strongest so you come here instead of outside.  It doesn't come very often, so when you hear word that it might come by you go running to see if you can grab a glimpse of the beauty and power of this gorgeous light.  you come even though you know the sunlight will fade and you will be left in a more terrible state than when you arrived.  you come in hopes that it will never go away, in hopes that it will stay there forever.  You know it wont, theres no way it can.  as soon as its gone, you feel so sad, and you may wish you never went.  but the second it comes around again, you come running just as before.  This light is very special to you, its too bad the light cant love you back.  If it had emotions,you know you could convince it to love you only for you love it the most.  But light is emotionless, so your dreams will never come true.  so you sit and wait in the miserable state, and try to continue in this room, this pitch black room youve come to hate, but you dont have a key to escape, the only key belongs to the sun, and it cant make a copy.

New Space

The room has a rich deep green color with a splash of brightness.  It is warm and inviting, and the bed is so comfortable.  Its cluttered and relatively small.  It is home.  This is how it should be, this is how it once was.  Now it looks the same but the feeling is very different.  This room is the home to the night.  The night made it bleak and sad.  The room looks at you with guilt and pity.  The lone person in the room sits in the corner against the shelves and looks onto the bed.  The night has consumed him.  He sits with watery eyes,  emotion is pouring out of him without him moving or making a sound.  He just sits there.  What is he thinking, is he ok? can you help?  its a mystery.  Just as big of a mystery as the night.  the memories of the night consume him and the room.  The bed remains the same.  the moon shines in through the huge open window.  the mirrors on the opposite side of the wall make the moon seem even brighter, casting a haunting light throughout the room.  The warm flannel sheets on the bed are untucked, and unmade, making what was a warm loving bed into a cold lifeless rock. The night has killed the man, the room, the bed and anyone who wants to venture into the room.  It is not a place for man.  Man cannot hold his own against the night.  The night consumes him just as it has the rest of the life that was once the room.  The night has moved on, but the emotion has not.   It persists while the night is free to venture to other rooms, and do as it pleases.  this is not to say the night is bad.  The night can be nice it can create pleasant moods for the rooms it visits, but not for this room, this room this night did not receive any pleasure.  The night will not come back.  It has passed.  It is gone.  and the room shall remain the same, silent, cold, and lifeless.

complex spaces

Complex Space

Jan 31, 2011

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There is a feeling in the room, it can be sensed by anyone who walks in. Its attacks the newcomer like a think fog of emotion. The room is very small and very private. The room is laid out in a clean manner, yet it is untidy. The bed, situated in the comer of the room, has clean linens, but is not made. Dress shoes lie below the bed, but the polish is scuffed. The room is picked up, expect for some crumbs that lie on the blue rug and a few candy wrappers scatter on the floor. Open school books lie on the very small couch but no work has been done. The owner lies in another coner separated from the bed. He is scrunched up as tight as he can against the wall. He has lost something dear to him, but no tears run down his face, his eyes fixed on a box across the room. It's an old wooden cigar box, filled not with cigars but with memories of the past. The owner of the room hold an old crumpled piece of paper. as his knuckles lay limp on the floor. his head pressed up agianst the corner of two walls. HIs jaw lies open as if he has no energy to close it. the dust on the floor feels gritty and dirty, but the owner doesn't seem to care. He sees only his bed and the box left right above it. his thoughts are silent, not even he can hear them. Above him on one wall lies the window. It is opened as much as is physically possible and the cold breeze blows into the room.