Being angry masks the deep depression, that overcomes my shattered soul.
Alone in a crowd is so death nine to my ears, as I crawl into my darkness.
Glimpses of light splinter the oxygen as it enters my body. Do I leave, or do I stay? Will anyone notice or keep blazing through their loud endless dry conversations.
Back home to my sanctuary and black rooms with only a black love seat that I curl up like a child.
