A Room I Know

A poem about mental health. (TW//Suicidal Ideation)

Photo by Guilherme Stecanella on Unsplash

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A Room I Know.

White space, no light,
But no dark.

Floating somewhere,
Though I stand
As if I’m back home.

I step over to the wall,
And trace my fingers
Slowly over its skin.

White space, old dream,
But nothing else.

I know this place.

It’s a room I’ve seen
Too many times.

A door rests at the
Other side.

And every time before,
I’ve chosen to leave.

But this time something
Feels different.

I sit and cross my legs,
To ponder the space
Around my form.

To think of my life,
Considering the dreams
Which fell apart.

And just as I think
I’m ready to stay…

I lunge for the door
And leave.

Hazel Allen, 2025.

Notes:

Originating from a series of weekly poetry prompts, this one explores the idea of being stuck in the in-between — a space where you’re not dead, but also not alive. It’s a place where you’re presented a choice, and its one you cannot come back from.

I’ve contemplated it a million times, the idea of disappearing, never being seen again. Jumping off a bridge, stabbing myself with a knife, swallowing pills, etc… But for a long while, I’d come to the conclusion I’d only go if death itself came for me. I would not push it, for I’ve always been too afraid of what remained on the other side.

Whether that fear is for the better, I do not really know. In some sense it might not be, there is so much negativity happening in the world right now, and everything is getting worse all the time. I just don’t know if that outweighs the good things I’ve experienced too. The little or big things which keep me moving. There are things I look forward to doing still, and people I enjoy interacting with.

So, like yeah, good for me?