My room is a cave, suited to my tastes.

My letters hang on her walls, my posters greet me with colors, everything is the same.

My bed is comfortable; two blankets and pillows with lots of give.

She’s home; I like it here.

There is every emotion here.

My pillowcases hold a myriad of dried tears.

And my blankets sometimes smell of sweat.

I am an animal of emotion; my room holds no muted feeling.

Others are afraid of this room; they are afraid of the anger,

Afraid of the carnivorous rage,

Afraid of the years of longing for something, anything.

My room confuses.

She tells story of my past,

With the smell of candles, incense, rotting flesh.

She is me, and I am her,

And I never want to leave.