i surrender.

...and i still feel empty.
there's still no food in my stomach.
i still have no desire to eat.

i laid in the middle of times square.
i went to the most rushed place in the world and slowed down.

you sometimes forget you're awake.
you never forget what it felt like to be alive.

no voices in my head, only lengthy novels grabbing hold of me and taking me on their roller-coaster of a ride.

no skipped heartbeats, instead skipped meals and sleep, becoming intertwined with the night.

no fallen tears, just a sincere nothingness and a sort of reckless disregard for life.

you could find my home somewhere in a tightly bound tether,
constricted to the point that every breath is a roar that could move mountains, only it's too old and frail, it's time long gone, and so it only faintly echoes out, a gasp rather than roar...

you could find my home in a darkened alleyway,
stumbling on an indefinite amount of steps, treading lightly not out of fear, but out of a complete disillusionment of reality, a soft stutter to the equilibrium of livelihood, only growing more weary and lost...

you could find my home anywhere,
but where you'd probably find it most is in a dark room, contemplating the necessity and desire for settling while dreaming still of continuing exploring, planning out all but what comes next in reality...

nothing has to be said at the end of a tale,
no more wish you wells or burn in hells.
we can leave it where it is,
because we're just too burnt out to give the plot a twist.