deepundergroundpoetry.com
Paper box hotel
I understand why people kill themselves in hotels
I never thought I would but now I do
There's a timezones difference in this room
I feel so alone and cut off from the outside
And no one can get to me in here
The voices seem louder in this paper thin box
All telling me this life of mine isn't enough
That there's nothing in the future to look forward to
It's a cold sunny Sunday afternoon
And all I can think about is my life
All the anger, pain, and hatred
Growing wild over my heart in my chest
I'm grateful, thankful I don't have alcohol
I'd be drinking it all by now if I had
I'm in a paper box hotel thinking about
The entirety of my life and it all feels pointless
No matter what we do the hands of time still spin
Try as we might that sand will keep coming down
I finally understand why people kill themselves in a hotel
I never thought I would but now I do
There's a timezones difference in this room
I feel so alone and cut off from the outside
And no one can get to me in here
The voices seem louder in this paper thin box
All telling me this life of mine isn't enough
That there's nothing in the future to look forward to
It's a cold sunny Sunday afternoon
And all I can think about is my life
All the anger, pain, and hatred
Growing wild over my heart in my chest
I'm grateful, thankful I don't have alcohol
I'd be drinking it all by now if I had
I'm in a paper box hotel thinking about
The entirety of my life and it all feels pointless
No matter what we do the hands of time still spin
Try as we might that sand will keep coming down
I finally understand why people kill themselves in a hotel
Published 25th Oct 2020
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 3
reading list entries 1
comments 3
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
26th Oct 2020 2:25am
Then fighting your nightmares to get into the light, for you are a strong woman. Keep on writing.
26th Oct 2020 3:45am
Being alone in a place where no one is around can be scary. So many thoughts can go through all at once while the world just keeps spinning on the outside.
Hope you're doing OK.
Hope you're doing OK.
26th Oct 2020 8:21pm
Poetry, to me, in it's most beautiful form, is the alchemy of pain into something that, through its honesty, attains beauty. This is what your poem is to me.
