no ones home.

i don’t think anyone truly sees how deep sadness runs through my body.

cowardly submitting to the second nature of sorrow.

the levels of despair surpassing the human possibilities of ichor flowing through my veins.

if i could consume scorching scraps of a broken radiator, even just a flickering candle; to distract myself from the interiorly window i’ve left extensively open on a bitter winters eve.

a resident in a mentally vacant building harbouring resentment for faint giggles of others passing by on the street.

i don’t want pity or a saviour, just a favour, please scrape deeper than the surface of false pretences of elation, peel back the cracking wallpaper of my mind and see the fragmented brickwork i’ve so desperately tried to conceal.