The grey carpet
It smells like old cigarettes.
It lies flat on the cold floor,
Waiting for someone.
I am one with the carpet.
I rest my head on its weary back in the evenings.
It knows when something is wrong,
And it calls me over.
It holds my hand when no one else can,
It tells me everything will be okay.
I lay in the dark,
Just me and the carpet.
So if you ever see me,
Staring at the ceiling,
With my arms by my side,
Just know that I'm lost in my mind.
YOU ARE READING
my secret mistakes • {poetry}
PoetryThe most deeply personal thing I may ever write, from an old soul trapped in a young body. Imagine a window into my life, my unfiltered, strange and unpredictable life. These are the things I am too afraid to tell anyone. So, welcome to my mind.
