Alone.
She's  alone as her mind races on a never ending track.
Voices of all shapes & sizes fill her head, as the tinny tiny original at the back of her mind screams for peace & tranquility.
She is alone.
Alone in her room as the blood drips from her wrist.
"You can talk to me about anything" they say.
But what can a "talk" solve for a human in this state of mind?
Depressed.
Things in the dark don't always come to light, in fact some things are better left in the dark.
The imagery in her head cannot be spoken in words, it is something that has to be seen to even slightly understand.
Even then,we start to believe our eyes are deceiving us.
Quiet.
Certain things are better left unsaid, words can lead to chaos.
Quiet.
Is what she remains when they question her.
Answering questions from those "above her" can only lead her to more sorrow.
So
She
Is
Alone.