Room 12, Brindle Hall
By Mark Sherrick

I'm sitting on my bed, in Room 12
On the first floor of Brindle Hall
My back against the wall
And my sneaker clad feet are 
Getting dirt all over my blue plaid comforter
My notebook is perched up against my knees
And I'm writing something
Trying to escape from the way things have been
My roomate Jeff and his friends come in and out of the room
Like the door isnt even there
But in my mind, whether to door is there or not
Open or closed
Locked or unlocked
I cannot go through it
I don't know why, but I can't bring myself 
to step through and deal with whats on the outside of that door
Across the room
I just decided that I needed to spend some time by myself
Trying to figure out what was going on outside that door
That had made me this way the week before
I was tired of all the falsehoods, the superficiality, and the fakeness
So I became what I had to become to save myself,
from whatever it is I needed saving from,
whether I needed it, wanted it or didnt really care.
After a while I broke through the door and ventured back into the world
I thought things might have changed some, and the negativity wouldnt be as prevalent
I found that it was not gone yet easier to deal with 
So I reevaluated my ways to easier accomplish just that.
As I look back on those days spent alone trapped in Room 12
Brindle Hall with my back on the wall and my notebook on my lap
I wonder if it was all worth it
I'm not sure but I think it might have been worth the hassle
What do you think?
Is it worth it?