Is that what you really do when you do what you do?
Run away from things you think cannot ever behave?
Run away from things far away and so close to you?
Now, if you would only stop, turn around, look down,
You'd see more rooms inside than on the outside,
But that is precisely what you don't want to find,
They are what causes me to scream within, hide.
They are what could finally turn this rusty old tide.
Is that what I really do when I do whatever I do?
Run away from things I think I am not allowed to do?
Run away from anything that is too close to you?
Now, if I would only be like the other people have been,
I'd see not that much of what I see by being just me,
But that is how they got what they thought was far,
They used to be a school that I no longer subscribe to.
They are somewhere with things to nibble and hold on to.
Rooms for runaways!
Find one when you need one,
But you will not stay.
It's not like you wanted to,
Rooms that run away!
Catch them while you can,
And them let them go.
We do it for the thrill of it,
- January 17th and 20th, April 28th, November 27th and 28th, 2016
This poem was originally titled "What I Do" and it wasn't going anywhere for the next three times I attempted to write it. I got the new title on the very last day, as well as the ambiance. The eventual ambiance came from numerous dreams where the same places in the neighbourhood look different on the inside and are often impossibly large and fashionable, or contain huge kitchens. And people living there are definitely not my neighbours.
This is not supposed to be negative, it's just that when one is preoccupied with other leitmotifs (pun, pun, pun), those dreams don't happen. Or maybe they dried out or something, which is the possibility hinted at in the two shorter verses. This one was more current to the time when they were prevalent.