I've written about it so many times but my pain is still invisible, wrapped up in beautiful words. I wish someone would rip them apart, revealing the cruelty of it all. But still i'm standing here dressed in a blanket of suffering, trying to turn it into something beautiful, but i've run out of ideas. I'm trying to make you notice me, lying in the arms of solitude, naked, scared and worn. I feel so vulnerable even thinking about it. My only way to speak about it is poetry and i've already said everything, I'm only repeating myself. But it's in vain, comfort's still out of reach.