These pages creak with old, forgotten memories.
Memories of times past
Vague, wispy in recognition
some so mentally far away
I must reach, stretch way out
past my comfort zone
just to tap them with my fingertips
But - - -

What is my comfort zone?
Definitely not this house.
Where failure and guilt follow
like dutiful yet annoying dogs
No, I'm definitely not comfortable here.
Not my school, either.
School, where morons manage
better grades than I;
where sinking in depression
is taboo, more than sleeping around
comfort does not lie there, either.
Not even in my own self any longer
does comfort rest
my mind swirls
with doubt, cloudy thoughts, recklessness
all crammed much too tight
for comfort to be at home there.

So... if I can't figure out my comfort zone...
will I be without rest forever?