Gazing up while depressed

It’s strange, this room.
Look up at the ceiling and see the view,
And this room I swear I always knew,
is cold and different.

The walls have moved in.
The paint is chipped and dark,
and like a hanging tree’s haunted bark,
It speaks to me.

It whispers between thought.
It underpins all I think and say,
And even this familiar bed in which I lay,
Seem alien and against me.

Tears roll down my face.
My voice breaks up as I plead,
my heart so cold begins to bleed,
And yet, I’m frozen stiff.

Paralysed in fear.
Fear of failure,
Faultering futures,
Paths. So long and tiring.

It’s a strange room,
This adorned tomb,
This bed, in which I lay.

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