So I don't know where this is going, but I don't think I ever truly do. My mind is full, full to the point of overflowing But still, I am alone. Even the thoughts which constantly fight to gain attention are of no solace. They do not make me feel alive they do not make me feel at all. With all of the happenings that are occuring you would think I would care but there is no care left in me to give. I do not even care for the bone and flesh that is my body. How am i to care for anything else? I often gather the blankets, hide away from the world at the bottom of my bed where no one can get me nothing matters but the deepest darkness which surrounds my form the heat from my breath which cannot escape so returns to warm me the rough feel of the woolen blanket against my bare skin. reminding me that i am still a part of this crazy world with all its living breathing feeling things my arms wrap tighter around my chest fingers round ribs, falling into the gaps between each bone still pressing still holding the sharp taste of blood reaches my nose as in a futile attempt to abait the darkness each finger delves into fleshing. pushing pushing until the blood rises