I look within and try to find a soft and caring place,  I feel so cold no feeling there deceit is on my face. there is no shock or sadness there, my heart it seems so bare , sympathy or tenderness I search it everywhere.  yet I outward will contradict with words i say and write, and utilize what others feel somehow it don’t seem right. What is it and who am I who hath no tears to cry, is my heart true made of ice and long since it has died??
there is no love but nor is hate within me does reside, an emptiness a vacuum, of life it is devoid. yet i function normally in fact exceptionally,  maybe just unwritten plans that i was meant to be. I’m not cruel nor am i soft, i’m somewhere in between, i can be cold but normally the nicest you have seen. am i ****** a bit deranged i really do not know, but sanity does normally abide inside of me. i do not worry nor be stressed when i do think of me, as  i am then what  i am is who, i will always  be