this little fight

thought bubbles

sometimes, i miss it.

the darkness of this room brings back so many dark memories, and yet i have found some way to forgive them.

yet somehow, i still havent found a way to forget them.

somehow i still find myself daydreaming about the things that happened in this room, not bothering to mention to myself that it is wrong.

that these feelings are false, invalid feeling that deserve to be pushed back against the brim of my skull.

i tell myself this, but somehow i still look in a shady mirror and see the reflection of the thought bubble penetrating my head.

i see the film against the white clouds again, watching this movie but doing nothing to pause it and scream for help.

i still watch these blank walls with a stale expression, blinking every now and again because there's nowhere else to look. i can't look away; its a strange sensation.

i cant help but let my thoughts wonder as i blindly guide them to a dark place; a place where dark is the only shade and rage is the only thing. i sit quietly as i think and stoke the flame, but i am using gasoline.

fire sweeps across my eyes, painting the walls with the red orange hues, my eyes being coloured with vibrant sensations, and i can't help but stare in utter awe.

this room is old,

but this room is home