Split skin on red knuckles, the sanitiser has left its mark.
A Common-place application, a routine, like brushing ones teeth.
Scars bare the hallmarks of a damaged soul, searching for a safe solitude.
How did I get to this point?
The point of: avoiding others, hiding away, irritable behaviour. An
Introvert? Perhaps.
A word now at least I understand, as I drift into a lonely world or some single-player fantasy.
Mask on, shield down, a warrior heads into battle; to fight an invisible war. Unsure of the outcome, unsure of himself.
Not sure of anything, anymore.