Seclusion.
Sometimes I just don't know why I keep going.
Or even where I'm at.
My gaze trails to the side... from the fall of the curtains, the woven midnight blue that witholds the painful afternoon sunlight from my eyes. Slipping past the television, blaring every day's ordinary woes. There's the fireplace, with little kitty prints of ash surrounding it.
none of it seems to sink in somehow. All that I can realise is that there's no help. Muscles ache and contract in their positions, toes a nauseous shade of black, and there's nothing I can do to releave the pain. My mind is trailing off as if it's tipped off of the end of the flat known world. There's no one around me anymore. I never would have dreamed that I would want to be held. Forget toughness, stubborness, heart of stone and will of iron. Part of me's been melted. And I couldn't be held if I wanted to.
Not even a clock to chime out the hour. No calender to remind me of my existance. There's an unmade bed and that's all that shows. And that could have been done by the cats... It's like slipping into a timeless, voiceless abyss. You never realise you're falling and never feel that you hit. There's just four white walls and no ending.
They miss me, i hear, but I couldn't imagine that. I haven't been gone. They haven't noticed me when I was there. There is nothing to miss.
There's got to be a stairway somewhere around here, right? Some way I can drag my beleagured body upwards. Maybe somewhere there's voices to be heard. An outside world, with small children playing recklessly in the streets and teenagers blaring their so-called music- with worn out workers trudging from their home and wives waiting expectantly for their husbands to show up= maybe somewhere there's a world that I can at least see.
Or even where I'm at.
My gaze trails to the side... from the fall of the curtains, the woven midnight blue that witholds the painful afternoon sunlight from my eyes. Slipping past the television, blaring every day's ordinary woes. There's the fireplace, with little kitty prints of ash surrounding it.
none of it seems to sink in somehow. All that I can realise is that there's no help. Muscles ache and contract in their positions, toes a nauseous shade of black, and there's nothing I can do to releave the pain. My mind is trailing off as if it's tipped off of the end of the flat known world. There's no one around me anymore. I never would have dreamed that I would want to be held. Forget toughness, stubborness, heart of stone and will of iron. Part of me's been melted. And I couldn't be held if I wanted to.
Not even a clock to chime out the hour. No calender to remind me of my existance. There's an unmade bed and that's all that shows. And that could have been done by the cats... It's like slipping into a timeless, voiceless abyss. You never realise you're falling and never feel that you hit. There's just four white walls and no ending.
They miss me, i hear, but I couldn't imagine that. I haven't been gone. They haven't noticed me when I was there. There is nothing to miss.
There's got to be a stairway somewhere around here, right? Some way I can drag my beleagured body upwards. Maybe somewhere there's voices to be heard. An outside world, with small children playing recklessly in the streets and teenagers blaring their so-called music- with worn out workers trudging from their home and wives waiting expectantly for their husbands to show up= maybe somewhere there's a world that I can at least see.