The stale ring left in my ear. Walls covering eyes and memories. White as snow, dull as a knife. The constant movement of this place is

unsettling. Comfort of the hurt and hurting. Bandage me up and break my spirits. Give me serenity in these broken moments. Hallways tunnel out of my sight.

That bed that too many people have been through. The pain that was felt, struggles, tears, blood and fluid. This place holds history.

The kind of history in that one book in the library. Furthest row from the door, tucked in a blanket of dust, top shelf. The book no one will read because of the way it makes you feel.

Helplessness and earthquakes.

Break trough this heart and tumble me wave. But I'll puff up my chest for you. I'll wear my steel chest plate. Arrows won't penetrate these reinforcements.

I ate my wheaties this morning. Prepared mentally and set out. I stepped through these doors only to be vulnerable, shot down, weak. Defenseless like a sloth. Grabbing my own arm for comfort, while falling too many stories down.

A Desolate attempt to show courage. I'll burrow back into my hole. The observed pain is too much. The false promises of health, fortitude and strength never taste so bitter.

If your strength didn't prove so much this would be long over. Over and out. Under the blanket of clouds and relief. You care too much. You proved your worth with a heart of diamonds. Home is a moveable fortress. One I'll never step in again.