Like walking into the
darkest of rooms.
Cold and empty, damp
yet desolate.
In this room, all fear comes
to life, woken from its tenuous
state of slumber.
In the silence, you can feel
the suffering—it’s stained on
all four walls.
Suddenly, the floor becomes
quicksand, and there’s nothing
you can do.
It happens in the moment you
realize you’re not standing in
a room—
the room is you…
-
Author:
– NoeticNonsense (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 17th, 2026 00:44
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: A.N.
Offline)
Comments1
A clever reversal of the concept in the end gives a new perspective of the write. Well done
Thank you!
You are welcome
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