I am from the Room in the Sky
I am from the stacks of CDs,
that lay scattered over the floor,
and stacked in their homes others call drawers.
I am from the old IPod mini’s withered surroundings.

I am from the twisted and knotted wires,
from the spaces and cracks in between drawers and the walls.
I am from sounds of creaking,
and from the pockets of my chair.

I am from the dark corner,
from the corner that light won’t travel into.
I am from the underside of my bed,
where old trinkets find their resting place.

I am from the crevice that all the dust ventures to,
from the collection of bunnies that hide under everything.
I am from the mountain of clothes in the dirty laundry basket,
and the stenching football equipment seared with sweat.
I am from the photos that were fresh with life long ago,
from the pages of the deteriorating books stacked sky high.
I am from the room that only I am capable to reach,
from the room that is surrounded by the sky.