The Room

I’m trapped in a room.

I can control almost everything in here. The walls. The view. The colour. I can make it however I want.

I can be alone. I can surround myself with crowds. Strangers. Friends. Both.

I control it all.


There’s a feeling; a weight in my stomach.

It anchors me.

Stops me from moving or even turning away.

It pulls from inside.

And without warning my thoughts turn to all the things that have gone wrong. All the things that could go wrong. All of my embarrassments and shame.

And anything good about me is now trivial. It doesn’t matter.

To me. To anyone.

And I’m scared.

I try to focus on controlling the room. I change its layout. Add windows. Add light.

I try and fill it with the things I think make me happy. Make me feel together.

But almost instantly the room fills with mirrors and all I see is me.

I close my eyes for a second, but I know as soon as I look, it’ll just be me, staring back.

All things fade. And I’m alone.

The room is now in darkness.


This is it at its worst.

But I try. And I think. I visualise something. An escape.

A desk.

It has a laptop, or a canvas, or an instrument.

I sit down. And I write. I paint. I play.

One thing at a time.

Whatever comes to me.

It doesn’t need to make sense.

Structure will come. Flow will come.

It just needs to be enough to take me out of myself.

Out of the room.

Away from my head.

The StrangerBusking
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© For The Edge 2020