In a brightly lit room
Where no one lives
Or even looks at
It sits waiting
With the walls painted red
As well as the floor and ceiling
Cracks with time that's not spent
The mood is that of a chamber
Or a cell for a prisoner
The sadness drips from above
The room wants a visitor
Or perhaps someone who's willing to stay
Some say that it would be happier if it was stolen
The room with its coat of red
Stands alone waiting
With its purpose hesitating
Its door opens
(c) 2019 Tanner Stevenson
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