It was just a room.
It was just a room filled with yellows and light,
A room with warm blankets and cold floors;
It was just a room.
The curtains pulled back, the window open,
That beautiful breeze interrupts our play
And foretells of disaster.
But it was just a room.
With four corners and four walls;
A room with a view into the backyard.
It was a playroom,
With a bed and a noisy heater that reminds one
Of ghouls and goblins lurking between the walls.
At night, it was a monster.
In the day, it was just a room.
Like any other room...
When nighttime fell, it was no longer a room.
It was a dungeon.
It was a torture chamber.
It was everything ugly that you never knew you never wanted,
Cascading upon your fragile crown...
Just a room, with a ceiling, and misplaced hopes
Staining the white walls.
Just a room with disdain sliding around
On the hardwood floors.
Once nighttime left, the mornings were harsh,
With the glow of sunlight filtering in and
Stinging the new wounds.
The memories went deeper than anything else could,
Penetrating the soul.
It was just a room.
It meant nothing and is someone else's room now.
It holds nothing of the same darkness
That used to live there.
But for a handful of years,
It wasn't just a room;
It was a hell.
And that hell
Sucked away my innocence
And split my mind in fours.