I made a room out of sadness
filled it with picture frames
of arguments I refused to let go
A tear stained sofa
that was meant to welcome guests
Is now where my past
has overstayed its welcome

Hanging on the walls
is a picture I drew
of a memory called happy
And on the coffee table
sits an old phonebook
of people who promised
to stay in touch

This was only supposed to be
a guestroom where I allowed
my chaos to visit from time to time
But somehow the boxes of anxiety
have piled up
and the monsters
have found their way
under this bed too