Am I?

 

Am I just furniture?

Chosen wisely, but hardly noticed.

Used then disposed of when broke.

A sheer sheet of wishful dreams-

A body left soulless-

A mind left empty-

A pen without ink-

A paper left blank.

 

Am I just Furniture,

Or do they really see me?

Do they see me cry-

Do they hear me scream-

No!

They can’t.

I hold it inside-

I let it build up-

I hide it away-

Until one day I’ll break.

 

Then they will see,

Then they will see I am not furniture.

Then they’ll all understand why all these years,

I kept quiet-

And smiled alone-

And gave what I couldn’t get.

They’ll see the monster.

The monster that burns through my skin-

The Monster that begs to get out-

The monster that strangles my heart,

And destroys my mind.

 

But to them-

I am nothing but furniture-

A waste of leisure-

A torn Veil-

A Broken Board.

I am the senseless words-

That they all speak.

I am the dust in the air-

The snow on the ground-

 

I.

Am.

Furniture.

Reviews

[Isabella Ivy]

Superb! I'll say that again... a supurb write. Welcome to the Cafe :) I.I.

[APOORVA]

this is the most amazing writing i have read on this platform. my favorite.
you reflect what i feel, just short of words to praise you.