My Hideaway

This was written during a depressive state of bipolar disorder.

There are two little holes
in this room I've erected.
I can see the outside,
but I know I'm protected.
There is but one door
nailed tightly closed.
I'd let people in but
I'd feel too exposed.
Venturing outside would
be much too bold.
So I sit here alone,
all alone, in the cold.
No outside contact means
no chance of pain.
I'll never have to hurt.
But what will I gain?
I sit here and watch
as things become hazy.
Was that hope I just saw?
No I'm just crazy.