There’s a lot of space, empty space. Just a single bed that is in shambles. Lighting is bright and hurts your eyes. This carpet makes burns on your skin upon touching it. The wardrobes stand tall up to the ceiling. The walls are painted black. And there is a window painted on one wall, Looking out into the sunset as if there is a light of hope. There is no mess, it is clean. It smells of roses and citrus fruit, it clenches in your throat because it is strong. Despite the cleaniless there is a stain on the ceiling, could be mould or a wet patch. This room isn’t that broken, so there’s a chance that it can be fixed. But looking at it now, the darkness, the cleaniless, the smell of hope: Nothing is better than being alone.

Dark walls Strip lights Cluttered floors Laundry everywhere Posters on the wall Held up by knifes Murder mystery books She calls them research Half drunk glads of wine And a cigarette bud Knee high converse Music blasting Shaking the walls The track of crying on repeat Half full notebooks Pens and pencils all over the desk Computer open To a website Blood stained gloves in a basket Gun case in the corner Guitar mounted on the wall Dirty dishes everywhere A smile on their face Closet door ajar Creeping closer To close for comfort Now your vision is as dark as their soul And you are bleeding out On the floor Meniachal laughs echo Body count: +1

Paint drops on my floor tiles A trillion canvases huddled in one corner My sisters books Too much bags Too much journals Pictures of me and my siblings My old teddy’s under my bed My sisters old bag from year 12 A stack of year 10 and 11 books near my bed My 15th bday year birthday box with most of the birthday cards i ever got A letter for my mom that i never gave her

A little crocodile plush from my friend that moved schools Black hair all over my floor

That’s it I guess

The bay window was littered with heaps of clothing. A bright green pair of jeans were dangling from the pillows with flower embroidery. The floor was matted with different colored carpets and decorated with more vibrant pops of clothing. On the walls were small intricate wooden pieces. There was a broom in the far corner of the room left to collect dust. A yellow colored desk beheld chunky earrings and necklaces with small trinkets hanging. In the center of the room was the mattress. It had no bed frame and only one pillow with an abundance of stuffed animals. The sheets were bright and had small illustrations over the tops. A tall wonky shelf stood by the bay window with an abundance of books ranging from non-fiction to fantasy.

The flannel bedspread was neutral and non threatening, the sort of thing that said I want shopping with my sister or my mother picked this out. In the corner was a well pruned ficus which was supposed to make to look like he was able to take care of things

What was once a brilliant white room has been yellowed with years of cigarette smoke seeping into the paint. Many would only notice upon closer inspection of course, not when the contents of the room are far more interesting. A sense of opulence is usually the first impression one would get upon entering, until the details of the room set in and the personality of the inhabitant reveals itself. Over flowing ash trays, empty glasses of high end whiskey with their accompanying bottles thrown haphazardly around the room. Books on philosophy, small trinkets from travels around the world gathering dust upon wooden oak shelves. A small jar of cocaine sits like a centre piece in the middle of the coffee table - a testament to bad, expensive habits. A waft of dog feces occasionally wafts through the room, even though the evidence of it’s existence long since removed.

Dark green walls surround Julian as he lays back on his bed.

His eyes flick up to look at the various records on the wall.

Some were for his favorite band: Arctic Monkeys.

Others were for My Chemical Romance, or Blink-182; there were even a few for Bad Omens.

He sighs, bored. Maybe he can read a book off his bookshelf, or write something on his computer that sits on his desk.

He's not in the mood for any of that.

Instead he lets his dark grey sheets surround him and he falls quickly asleep.

The large windows overlook a pansy flower garden. The bed is cozy with a dozen worn in pillows. A large chair occupies the corner, piles of books surround it. The actual bookshelves are full and bursting under the weight of every book she already has. The floor is carpeted but you could barely tell, there's just enough room to walk a tight path. The opposite corner resides a stereo filled with old CD's, background noise for reading and sleeping. The closet is stuffed with everything else, from old school items to unfinished puzzles, with just enough room to organize the few clothes she rotates through. It's not that she can't have more clothes, but the same thing is comfortable and easy. The walls are white, but the green curtains allow light through causing the room to turn green when they are drawn.

Lila’s room was the pure embodiment of herself, scattered books and lipsticks amongst her twin size bed. The sheets were white with a variety of makeup and pen stains. “Need to wash those” She thought absentmindedly. Her bed frame was a black metal that squeaked when moved. “Not very practical” Lila continued observing the room she’d just walked in.

Next she noted her floor, it was an old white wood flooring. With shorts, t-shirts and undergarments shoved in a corner

Barren walls, complimented by a single Scooby Doo themed light switch panel, all at the ripe age of twenty two years old.

Miscellaneous hats stacked disorderly upon the dresser look more like the remnants of an earth quake than they do the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Immediately next to this scene, a barrage of at least a dozen cologne bottles, each with a unique presentation (not to mention scent). Woodsy, Vanilla, Citrus, Florals, Cloves, Cinnamon and of course, an empty Gucci bottle, stand together, each wondering the next time they’ll be sprayed.

A clothing rack in the corner conceals his shopping addiction by presenting his clothing as an “aesthetically pleasing” piece of furniture in the corner of his room. The braggadocios leather and suede jackets pop out against the wave of denim jackets suspended next to them.