Despite the suns efforts to shine,
The cold from within has a claim over my skin,
It sips through my pores and hovers over me like a protective layer,

It doesn’t protect me.
I'm but a vessel, a cup, an urn, beautifully moulded,
But never will I amount to that which I hold.

The ghost of me wants to escape the future and be one with me.
To silence me

The sun shows signs of cracking as if it were a wall painting
I begin to realise I am trapped in a frame,
Someone’s depiction of gloom…

I can have no emotion,
I only stir it up for you
You who sees me…
You know wants to know me…
You who's been cold under the blazing sun