So whad`ya know? xD

Another BORING day .____.

I swear, it`s so contradicting that I don`t want school to start, yet this summer is so boring right now xD

But screw that. That`s not the point (: Anyways.

I`ve been wanting to post this poem I wrote for a while now ~ I wrote it like 2 months ago on one particular (and like many other) boring night at like midnight or something. It has nothing to do with a fanfiction, so I decided to post it as a blog post instead.

Before you read it, PLEASE--don`t think I`m psycho xP Because the poem will make it seem like I am .__.

& nothing in here is actually true ~ I was just being weird one night & came up with this idea LOL

Here you go if you still want to read it :

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There are those kinds of rooms. The kind where furniture fills the room: a warm sofa, small coffee table, among other essentials. Those walls would then be filled with decorative pieces, photographs where people are ever-lastingly brightly smiling. The walls would be painted an optimistic color: a bright yellow? It would symbolize the sunshine of the room. A pale blue? It would bring a delusional sea breeze into the room, refreshing its aura. Or perhaps A light pink which would add to the love and comfort the room provided or a refreshing purple that adds elegance. Nevertheless, the sofa would be overflowed with stuffed plushes and a warm cup of coffee would sit on the table, waiting for the owner of the room.

What a fantasy.

I wasn’t that sort of person.

You could say that I’m eccentric, albeit, or whatever your mind prefers, and of course, you would be perfectly corrected.

But I love empty rooms.

They possess a mysterious type of charm where upon entering, all audible would be your own staccato of steps and all you felt was the irresistible temptation to turn around in every angle.

Because empty rooms have nothing, yet may have anything.

…There are the kind of rooms with secure surroundings, with a kind of relief and comfort upon entering.

But I still love empty rooms.

You could say I’m fearless, strange, or simply psycho, and you may be perfectly correct. I was not sure of myself either.

Empty rooms have an unusual kind of comfort to them as well. Amidst all darkness, you had the daunting silence all to yourself. There was nothing to distract nor anything to blind your thoughts.

I strangely enjoyed this kind of comfort.

Here I sat in the center of my room--my empty room. The three walls were tainted in a manner that was natural, where the fourth supposed wall was simply a large glass window. The room was moonlit, leaving the only visible components being a creaking wooden floor, the blank walls, and of course, my own shadow.

If you listen closely in my empty room, you would hear a muffled noise as the furnace managed to maintain some heat in the spacious room. But if you were trembling with fear in this room, you would only hear daunting and un-cracking silence.

I continued to sit in this room, my thinking room, pondering upon the supposed wonders of life. Life was suppose to be gracious and miraculous.

I--for a lack of a better word--laughed at that.

All people living are nothing more than the most widely deceived victims of life.

Life is a hypocrite. People should know better.

I laid down on my back and stared at the ceiling, which was equally as empty and bland as anything else in this room. The floors were unusually warm.

I had to sneer more when I stumble upon more thoughts on life.

Life is a liar.

We were born without the knowledge of the pain and sufferings of life.

Life never told us, but perhaps we knew.

The empty room was surprisingly heating up. Perhaps the furnace ran out of control again.

I laughed again, but this time, not at life.

I wondered if all people were just sadistic.

Everyone knows. Hope is just another word created by people to continue their own denial of the inevitable fate of life. Just like trust, belief, and value.

I spread my arms and legs wide as I laid on the floor, experiencing the freedom of the empty room. You were never restricted by any obstacles to your motions.

I preferred this type of freedom and individualism.

Before I lost myself in thoughts again, I heard crackling noises creeping closer to my door.

Never mind that.

Life is just another delusion. I continued to find the right and every description for life.

The crackling noises continued to inch in my empty room. The furnace stopped running.

That’s right.

Life is nothing but a dream. It’s all a dream.

The mystic darkness of the empty room was slowing fading away as light kept spilling further into the room. The barely warmed room was replaced with a unbearable warmth.

It happened so slowly, however, my thoughts on life were permitted to continue.
I stopped laying on my back and sat up. I drew my legs close--right in front of my chest.

I smiled--before I laid my head on my knees.

I sighed.

Life is a dream.

And only when you wake up, you realize you’re as good as gone.

Dead.

I closed my eyes, completing my last posture.

The light was blinding and the heat was tingling on my skin.

It soon crept up my clothe and upon my figure entirely.

I was to be awaken from this dream.

 

…This emblazing fire was going to take me entirely and wake me up from this dream.

I had to thank the fire.

It lit the empty (dark) room for the first time.

It warmed the empty (cold) room for the first time.

Yet I despised the fire. It took away my empty room.

The empty room I still loved dearly.

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LOL. This poem makes even me feel wack ~ Maybe I`m not normal afterall .__.

Anyways. I`ll leave it here (:

Peace xD

-Tracy ~