It all begins with the description.
The description.
Heightened heights of dark lit rooms
And faces invented, faces true.
As shadows fall across the page,
Giving reason to the present age.
The reason is the reason.
Completed left for next completion,
To then pass on before deletion.
Fact inspired.
Case filler.
Apology.

Stephanie strives on with words repeated,
Words repeated,
Words repeated,
Words repeated,
Undefeated.
She still hears sounds I no longer hear,
She still retains what was so clear.
My American dream from which I've woken up.
Woken up to what?

The Dog Room.

The first two chapters,
Lost among shelves of memories.
Memories I can't remember.
Times that retain the excitement
Of sunshine in December.

(people say they're over the hill,
as far as I can make out, they're climbing still.)

Read, draw, write more,
Learn more stuff.
Play more music,
Never enough.

Accept what you're told,
Believe what you learn,
Tell it and teach it
When it's your turn.

Then you'll avoid it.
Avoid it.

The Dog Room.

In the Dog Room you're all on your own,
And everything to do can't be done.
In the Dog Room you're cold and can't breath,
And no windows to let in the sun.

In the Dog Room there's nobody there,
But faces of stains and dead toys.
In the Dog Room there's all of your faults,
And no reason or source for the noise.

In the Dog Room there's eyes ad there's frames,
There's a shelf and a glass and a list.
In the Dog Room there's three lots of me,
So I'm glad that it doesn't exist.

I'm glad that it doesn't exist.

The Dog Room.

It comes and goes,
As Rosie knows.
You can learn from
Everything it shows

It's in a castle,
On a hill.
You walk the road
And it's there still.

Under the bunkbed,
In a book,
Turn the pages,
Have a look.

There it is.

The Dog Room.