My Room

The faded paint on my drawers shines in the sun.
Small particles of dust rest on the top.
Clothes lay everywhere, streaked across the floor.
What was once a smooth, brown chair in one corner of the room,
Is now half-submerged in clothes...piles of them.
So is the floor, and my bed.
My pink, flowery, crinkled duvet-cover sways in the summer wind.
The T.V looms over my drawers, like a shadow in a horror film.
The light-tan coloured floor-boards swim in sun-rays,
Gleaming and squeaky.
The wooden door creaks, and moves, like a dance in the night-sky.
The wind changes and the curtains turn tail, and sway in a different direction.
My stained-glass diamonds reflect the sun, and the room is filled with light-
the deepest pinks, and blues, with a few shades of green, yellow and silver.
Trees rustle somewhere outside, and leaves fall to the damp grass below.
The room seems friendly and welcoming to anyone who enters.
The only neat thing in the room is my pillows that lay motionless on my bed.
A sturdy electric-guitar hides down next to my drawers.
My little bookshelf limply sits next to my bed.
A blackish-grey laptop lies unopened on the top.
A few books and CD’s hide in one of the compartments.
My room seems lonely and wants company.
The door sighs, and slowly, it closes.
Because of that, my room remains a mystery.



By Bethany