Everytime I walk into the room, somethings different. A small thing, even my perspective.

Been living in it for a while, some days feelin’ like I’m dying in it. I dream my dreams, plan my schemes. That rooms where I had my best days, thought I was great, came back to ground zero, feel nothing but hate. It’s where my nightmares were born, my fears and addictions stormed. That room is where I lived for so long, my personal piece of heaven, mixed with a taste of hell.

It’s where I’d go to hide, to lock my tears inside. It’s where my nails met my skin, invisible scars that shouldn’t have been. It’s where I’d go to cry at nights-whether it sending a prayer to God, asking Him to make it alright. To show me things I shouldn’t, to make me a person I couldn’t be. That rooms where I dealt with rejection; fought against affection. Rejected God, claimed a passion for things I couldn’t stand with. I lost myself in that room, but I found myself there, too. A lot’s happened in that little room. My personal heaven, a retreat if you will,, but where I retreat to find emotions inside. Welcome to my slither of heaven, with a taste of hell.

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