A poem

My story seems unreal, A passage of timid steps, In a large, hollow hall.

Dark portraits glare and frown,

Why did I choose this skin?

Why even show up at all?

This town seems so brown, Even the leaves have fallen, In half light my shadow flits.

Why did I leave my safe room?

Why did I say your name aloud?

The air seems so thin, I spiral and dance like a moth pinned, Drugged and hating the light.

Why do anything at all?

When all my dreams betray me?

Infant, Coward, timid spirit, Words seem made to fit,

That frame into which I squeeze, That world that loves me leaves me, Cold.

Chris