solid lines of hollow words grace the silent light that cascades from the shadows i once use to call home; but all that is left inside are memories that don't even recall where they're from, too

lost, like me, i drift away thinking, sinking in the fade of the background noise in an empty room and even emptier heart, "what have i done to deserve this?"

in sombre tones of misery brought by the face of cowards gnawing at my bones, like winter's cold their words sink in, devastating the sanctity of what hope is left to hold onto

desolation my only true friend, i could always count on knowing nobody would be there, and silence became the last sound i ever heard beyond the heavy expulsion of tears drizzling upon a worthless desk of crushed dreams - beheld, a misery so deep and vast, the mind rots waiting to surmise even the faintest bit of truth in a purpose to be alive at all

never once would defeating pleas make a difference to the blank faces and inset scars running across my skin, because even in a thousand years time spent in either company, the embrace of a blade would always be more welcoming than the sound of their voice, let alone the mere knowledge of their existence

but it was always my existence i got upset about, most