I have called you the the best, the worst, and it’s strange now I call you nothing.

2 Being reduced to echoes of nostalgia forces me to stitch up the last five years and all the while looking at my Frankenstein creation, I always long to go back.

3. As if this graveyard trembles inside distant fogs that old friends and family cannot bring themselves to mourn over.

4. They call my soul a lake of toxicity. Not once have they asked how I manage to swim through the current of life, but instead look away as the drowning begins.

5. I tried creating my own vortex, but finding myself at the end of a wormhole with no idea how I got here yet alone return to the person before every bad choice, flawed reaction, and bottles tsunami inside of me.

6. Tactless comments, a thoughtless act, a reactive tongue; each transgression building stone by stone until I created this sentinel walling myself with an invisible shield so nobody can come close to me.

7. There’s no winning this war. The battles have always witnessed a type of loss, bloodshed or not.

8. If we touch again whose the reaching hand? Nobody. There’s no oneness without wholeness. And this fortress remains guarded, empty.

9. I cannot keep counting these days anymore. I am a prisoner against the bedroom window. The sepia tones of streetlights taunt me, and I’d rather speak to ghosts than answer the phone these days.

10. We knew how this would end. The white room will only cast my shadow. I don’t know where I will drift from here.