My room,
Both a death camp and a safe zone,
Rather wither away,
Than face execution.
Open door,
Deep breath,
Failure.
Hand over my feelings,
back to bed,
laying there,
friends were a conspiracy.
Leaving this house a teenage floor of lava,
To the armory,
Wield headphones and an over grown coat.
Open door,
Deep breath,
Stand.
The sun hurt as if i just left a space ship,
Fear of both know and unknown,
On this planet I was the alien.
Open gate,
Deep breath,
Walk.
Pavements conveyor belts,
Pushing out ghouls of society,
Cubicle bound,
Grey walls.
Yet still asked why so scared,
Of what I wish was just in my head,
This earth,
The land of dead.
The punctuation is a lot different in this than previous poems I have wrote as this was a spoken word poem I used.