lock the door. shut off the lights.

i sit in a box of four walls. poorly constructed. and the air is always too hot and too cold at the same time.
i sit and i stare at these walls every day and i dream of a world that exists beyond them but for fear that my own legs are not strong enough to carry me
my arms too weak
my soul too fragile
i stay with in the confines of this room that i have grown to resent and yet seek refuge in.
there was a time when i used to be brave but the world scratched and scathed
my once unwavering, now faltering spirit
i used to walk in leaps and bounds eager and bright at the slightest glimmer of a promise
and now promises are silly notions i no longer believe in because someone once told me that that was naive, and i, in my naivety believed them.


belief in and of itself is a silly notion
i didn't always believe so
my beliefs were once handed down and spoon fed to me and i gobbled them up greedily as if starving for their guidance
but the words in my mouth that dripped down into my stomach didn't mix well with my conscience, which too sits in the pit of my belly
the two collided like oil and water.
there was no substance.
and i was starving.
emaciated and confused i spat them both up, and my gut collapsed in on itself with nothing inside of it to hold up its walls.
i couldn't stomach food for thought
or food for the soul
the idea of consuming anything from the world, one which no longer concurred with what was supposed to be and what was actuality
was nauseating.
and with out sustenance my legs and arms and soul grew weak
and i couldn't stand on my own two feet.
walking a block in the world became walking a mile
and the miles stretched on
and the days grew long
and my mouth grew dry
but there wasn't anything in the world which i dared to drink.
for the waters of the world no longer ran clear, they were murky and muddled with the waste of it all.
the waste of lives like my own, half lived.
the waste of potentials never actualized.
the waste of dreams awoken from before they could be remembered.
the waste of time spent chasing shadows.
the waste of words of wisdom falling on deaf ears
and the waste of beauty falling on blind eyes
the waste of the world because someone, somewhere
whispered doubt into the air, and it carried on the winds into unsuspecting minds. it found a vacant space previously carved out by one misfortune or another, of which we all posses.

the doubt rooted itself in that space, and allowed itself to grow there.
once a crack that we would eventually heal ourselves in time, as doubt grew and stretched it wide,it became a canyon with half our souls on each half of the divide.
and maybe we could cross it, and maybe we'd survive.
two halves reunited, courage reignited
and the strength once lost, regained, and the hope that now whole, this world is one we might just thrive in.


but i've yet to cross that trench that's gouged its way into myself, for fear that i have grown so frail that what is left of me would shatter with the slightest shift of gravel beneath my weight.
and so i wait in my four walled cell. blinds drawn tight to keep out the sunlight
that reminds me of days when i was brave. it reminds me of the world i thought i knew and reminds me of the shame i now carry for having hidden myself from it.
my company is the doubt that i have shared my bed with. and it is that doubt that has nursed my fevers and my fears. it is that doubt that has cradled me to sleep, in the darkest hours of my darkest hours. as i lay in bed, locked away from what was dangerous and unknown my doubt cooed and hushed and whispered me lullabies assuring me that this is what was right. singing to me "everything is going to be alright, i'll be here in the morning, sleep now. goodnight."