In My Attic Poem by Sean Olivia

It's lonely up here,
In my dusty little attic.
But I won't shed a tear,
I will not feel pathetic.

In my dusty little attic,
I take my time to think.
Nothing ever seems frantic,
And slowly I will sink.

I plummet down into my thoughts,
Reflecting on my miserable past.
The time this house was bought,
When it was caked with dust.

And then Momma went berserk,
She married a guy called Ben.
He was a big fat jerk,
He didn't know what was a pen!

Oh what has happened to Poppa,
His jokes and funny faces?
All that's left is his daughter,
But i couldn't find any trace.

Now i would resurface,
Avoiding suffocation, gasping for air,
To touch my cold pale face,
Enduring the burden I had to bear.

But up here in my attic,
I shoved out all these thoughts.
I tried doing arithmetic,
It was the refuge which I sought.

Sooner or later I had to face it,
But not today, just not today.
On the cold floor I would sit,
Just not today, just not today.