This poem is for everyone who has felt alone in this world.

Crimson coils of mist
reach out to greet me,
cauldrons boil over

with no one watching.
Vials of vermin and 
jars of goo line shelves 

rife with residue.
Cats bat at dust mites 
instead of toys. I keep 

a close eye so they don’t 
knock over any of the 
thick tomes like “How Not 

to Let People Into Your Inner 
Sanctum” with their tails.
This is my hideout, the

place where I truly belong. 
Its walls are thicker than a 
dense grove of trees.

If a tree falls in a forest 
with no one to hear it,
does it make a sound?

Process

I wrote this poem for a poetry class. I combined elements of fiction and nonfiction when writing it.