A world of that consists of Nothing.

Everything has been taken.
I'm left, with a green bedroom,
And thankfully a job.
It's cold and black.
These white pills I swallow,
Everyday,
In hopes,
Of one day to drive away,
The cold, and the Black.
It does no good.
How can this be cured?
If all my life consists of is a green room,
And thankfully a job.
It would cause the sanest of people,
To slip into,
This so called, "Depression".
So how is it suppose to cure?
The captivity helps none!
It leads to fantasies, and a make believe world.
A world that I must create,
Create around myself,
In order to maintain,
The so called life I use to have.
The Freedom.
The Friends.
I miss my life.
The one I once had.
When I last had it, I know not.
When I shall regain it,
I know not.
Till you find me in my room,
The color green,
Yet filled with black.
So cold and bitter.
Filled with dreams,
All make believe.
As I sit so still.
Causing my soul to bleed.

Please Tell me what you think...I was just rambling on in my head and it came out.