The Chair

I sit here alone in this dark, desperate room
Waiting to succumb to some sort of doom,
In this shallow pool of dubious gloom
I stare at the door in front of me,
Expecting that handle to turn,
Within me, fear burns, like a wildfire and takes a hold of my soul,
No, it will not let go, I continue to wait here for hours, days,
Then weeks, I feel the vile stench yanking at my skin,
O how it reeks, but I can not leave.
So I stay, in my chair,
And time continues to wear,
At this door, I will continue to stare.
I am growing old, my aging body,
Now full of wrinkles and folds,
My heart, dying like grass in the coming cold.
Life has come and gone,
I wish for another sunlit dawn,
Another bright morning, a chance to live with no fear,
But instead I blew it all on that horrible chair,
Where all I did was sit and stare,
Waiting for a monster or some sort of atrocious beast
But there was nothing beyond that door except a great feast,
A feast of life, love and passion,
But I chose to live in the same old fashion,
I walked the path of least resistance
But found myself the furthest distance, from happiness.
I was afraid to take the chance so I did not advance,
True, I lived of no care, a life full of fear,
Where all I did was stare, in that disgusting, old chair.