By Arcassin B & Olivia K


OK: On a cold March day I was stranded.
In a place all lined with darkness. Walls enclosed me real tight, I have a huge desire to fight, They say there are responses, one or sometimes two, fight or flight is what they say, looks like I'm here to stay, a cell phone in my pocket shines just a little light, on the wall to the right in silver pen be wrote, welcome to the wishing well, is this heaven or is this hell,
AB: Trauma speaks in silence letting me know in a state of euphoria, Things are not what it seems by any and all means When your own people ready to Bury ya, looking at the four walls like "how are you doing sir" never felt more than a burden in vain to the rest of the planet of sleepless individuals with no time on their hands just walking around for the next transit.