Empty and Dark

This place is empty and dark

The room is empty and dark, No windows to show me the sun rising in the early morning. No doors for me to leave when I please. The bed isn’t soft like the clouds in the spring sky that my mother told me about just days ago. I can’t hear the cars racing down the highway anymore. This small room is a lot smaller than I dreamed it was. I made just a few friends from this room, they keep me company in this small lonely world. Stretching my arms and legs aren’t an option. My skin is tight enough to bounce a quarter off of. Silence is all I hear from my new location. I don’t feel heat from a summer bonfire, I just feel cold. I’m always so cold. No Blankets can be offered to me anymore. There’s no breeze, rain, or snow. No holidays with my family, no coffee with my friends, and no field trips with my kids that will never be born. Just a empty and dark room that I can’t escape. Being dead isn’t like a sunny summer day in the park with the love of your life. It’s just a empty and dark room, 6 feet under the ground with a tombstone above it with your birthday and d-day under your full name. If you’re lucky, you’ll have flowers. In my case, I don’t have a tombstone with my name or flowers. All I have is a young woman, around my age, buried 4 inches to my right and a little boy, around 3, to my left. There are too many to count. Every night a new room is made. Made of cardboard and a tarp. This room is empty and dark, but I’m not alone.