I don’t know what to write.
To feel. To see. To know.
Blanked out.
Is melancholy the word?
Discontent, needing to detach.
Detach me, let me go.
I hold no part of anything, to anything.
I am not a part of the chaos, I am disconnected from it all.
I live in my own chaos, my madness, my love.
Low on energy, nothing that excites my peculiar mind.
Dissatisfied, bored.
Out of my mind.
Craving privacy…
Solitude, space.
What cost does sacrificing your own freedom come to?