My mind is a corridor,
It stretches for miles,
Everything is pure white
From ceiling to floor tiles.
You could be there for months,
If you were to visit,
And you would only see
A glimpse of what's in it.
Behind each of these doors,
Lies a well-mapped face,
Or an unfinished novel,
Or a memory, or a place.
At the end of the corridor
There's a room unlike the others,
This is where I keep things
I hope noone discovers.
I keep all the things
That are terrible in there,
I keep in this room
The things I cannot bear.
It holds images, words,
And emotions that frighten me,
I've shut them all in there
And I've hidden away the key.
It holds all of my nightmares,
Contains all my dreading,
And though it's always present,
It almost feels like forgetting.
But the most terrifying thing of all
Is a thought I can't lock up...
*What would happen to the corridor,
If that door didn't stay shut?*
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 2:17 PM UTC
My mind is a corridor,
It stretches for miles,
Everything is pure white
From ceiling to floor tiles.
You could be there for months,
If you were to visit,
And you would only see
A glimpse of what's in it.
Behind each of these doors,
Lies a well-mapped face,
Or an unfinished novel,
Or a memory, or a place.
At the end of the corridor
There's a room unlike the others,
This is where I keep things
I hope noone discovers.
I keep all the things
That are terrible in there,
I keep in this room
The things I cannot bear.
It holds images, words,
And emotions that frighten me,
I've shut them all in there
And I've hidden away the key.
It holds all of my nightmares,
Contains all my dreading,
And though it's always present,
It almost feels like forgetting.
But the most terrifying thing of all
Is a thought I can't lock up...
*What would happen to the corridor,
If that door didn't stay shut?*
Request permission to use this poem